Page 18 of Vows of Revenge

‘I... I suppose it depends on what you want,’ Kassia said cautiously.

She had a feeling she was hitting Damos Kallinikos on a nerve. Maybe one that was still raw, given his own rise from humble beginnings. He was looking at her with an expression in his eyes she hadn’t seen before.

‘You’re second-generation wealth, Kassia,’ he said. ‘Oh, you may work diligently in your career, but you have that cushion of wealth behind you all the same. It gives you a sense of security, of expectation, that you are scarcely aware of.’

She swallowed. ‘I know I’ve had a privileged upbringing, but I try not to exploit it.’

A short laugh came from him. She did not hear any humour in it. Only vehemence as he spoke, biting out the words.

‘Privileged, all the same. You’ve never felt the hunger of an outsider. University was out of the question for me. You said to me at the dig—I remember it quite clearly—that I wouldn’t want to get my hands dirty. But I’ve done my years of hard manual labour, believe me. While you were enjoying the luxury of higher education, paid for by your father, I’d been working since I was fifteen on the docks—crewing on private yachts and merchant marine, working to make money, save money, give myself a financial base and make something of myself, haul myself up the ladder rung by rung. It isn’t easy starting from scratch. It takes determination and, yes, ambition—and I’ve got both, or I would never have achieved what I have.’

Kassia was silent. Her father, too, was ambitious and determined—ruthlessly so. Seizing every and any opportunity to make money, boasting of how he’d built himself up from nowhere by snapping up ailing businesses driven to the wall during Greece’s prolonged financial crisis fifteen years earlier at rock-bottom prices. He’d done it again during the more recent pandemic. Then he’d sacked as many employees as he could, stripped out any valuable assets, and run the businesses at the least cost and greatest profit to himself, before moving on to his next acquisition. He was probably working on another one right now—he usually was.

‘I apologise. I didn’t mean to speak so critically.’

Damos’s voice cut across her darkening thoughts, no longer vehement now, and she was relieved. Surely there was no reason to think Damos Kallinikos as ruthless as her father? But then, where did the balance come between ambition and ruthlessness?

‘Please,’ she responded immediately, ‘I didn’t mean to condemn simply being ambitious, or wanting to make money. It’s just that my father...’ She hesitated, then went on awkwardly, ‘Well, you must know his reputation for ruthlessness in business, riding roughshod over people, making use of anyone he can to achieve his ambitions—’

She broke off, not wanting to compare Damos to her father. Wanting to think better of him.

‘Whatever your father’s business practices are, Kassia,’ Damos said tightly, ‘Imade my money honestly.’

For a moment she met his eyes full-on, knowing there was a troubled look in her own. Then she looked away, blinking. She felt a brief touch on her arm. Damos was speaking again, his voice lighter now, but still pointed.

‘Let’s change the subject—not spoil this very pleasant day. So...’ he took a breath, making his voice warmer ‘...what’s this next room?’

He guided her forward into an adjoining chamber as magnificent as the last one. They were all magnificent—a breathtaking enfilade, with doorways ornamented, walls bedecked with tapestries and portraits, floors richly carpeted, curtains heavy and silken, furniture gilded and ornate, tables laden with silver and priceless porcelain.

‘Not exactly homely,’ Damos said dryly.

Good humour was back in his voice now, and Kassia was glad. Relieved. She made her tone of voice match his.

‘Well, these are the state apartments, so they are designed for showing off grandeur and opulence! I’m sure the current Duke has a wing or whatever, for himself and his family that is far cosier,’ Kassia replied.

‘That’s reassuring,’ Damos observed. ‘These massive rooms are OK in the summer, but everyone must freeze in a British winter!’

Kassia laughed. That moment of friction between them had been uncomfortable, but it was over. She could relax again.

‘English country houses of the time were infamous for being freezing, however many fireplaces they had! I believe it wasn’t until the impoverished aristocracy started marrying all those American dollar princesses at the end of the nineteenth century that things like central heating were installed.’

‘Dollar princesses?’ Damos posed.

‘American heiresses to all the new money being made in the USA at the time. They arrived in Europe to snap up titled husbands in exchange for their huge dowries. Consuelo Vanderbilt was one. She married the Duke, the cousin of Winston Churchill, whose own mother, Jenny Jerome, was another dollar princess.’

‘Tell me more,’ said Damos, and Kassia did.

She was much happier talking about such things than touching on how Damos Kallinikos had made his money and hoping it wasn’t anything like the way her father had made his. Her father was the most ruthless man she knew, stooping to any level to increase his wealth.

I don’t want Damos to be like that—to be anything like him!

Why, she didn’t want to question—except she knew that she wouldn’t want anyone to be like her father.

And why should Damos be like him? There are plenty of decent ways of making money—hard work, high achievements. No need at all for him to be as ruthless as my father...

State apartments all viewed, as well as Winston Churchill’s birth room—surprisingly modest, as Damos pointed out to her—they made their way outdoors. The warmth of the day wrapped around them, and Kassia felt her spirits warming too.

‘Lunch?’ suggested Damos.

---