Helena forced herself to concentrate, and tried to ignore the faint, musky drift of Oscar’s aftershave.

Clearing his throat, the solicitor continued, ‘To my beloved great-nephew Oscar Iannis Theotokis I leave one half of the property known as Mulberry Court.’ Adjusting his spectacles, he went on, ‘And I also bequeath one half of the said property to Helena Kingston. All and everything to be shared equally between the two aforesaid parties.’

What had he just said? Immediately shocked beyond belief, Helena gasped and almost stood up. This isn’t right, she thought wildly. Not Mulberry Court! There had to be some mistake!

If she’d been struck by something hurtling from outer space Helena couldn’t have felt more stunned. There was complete silence for a few moments, then Helena pulled herself together and looked across at Oscar’s stern profile, trying to stem the hot tide of feeling that was rippling through every nerve and fibre of her body.

About the Author

SUSANNE JAMES has enjoyed creative writing since childhood, completing her first—sadly unpublished—novel by the age of twelve. She has three grown-up children who were, and are, her pride and joy, and who all live happily in Oxfordshire with their families. She was always happy to put the needs of her family before her ambition to write seriously, although along the way some published articles for magazines and newspapers helped to keep the dream alive!

Susanne’s big regret is that her beloved husband is no longer here to share the pleasure of her recent success. She now shares her life with Toffee, her young Cavalier King Charles spaniel, who decides when it’s time to get up (early) and when a walk in the park is overdue!

Recent titles by the same author:

BUTTONED-UP SECRETARY, BRITISH BOSS

THE MASTER OF HIGHBRIDGE MANOR

THE BOSELLI BRIDE

THE PLAYBOY OF PENGARROTH HALL

Did you know these are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk

The Theotokis
Inheritance

Susanne James

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CHAPTER ONE

JUST before three o’clock on a chilly April afternoon, Helena drew into the crowded car park of Dorchester solicitors Messrs Mayhew & Morrison, and glanced at her watch. She was five minutes early for her appointment—so she’d made good time on her journey from London.

As she’d left the motorway and joined the quieter country roads, the usual wave of nostalgia had run through Helena. Dorset was home territory—and she’d stayed away too long this time. In fact, she realized, she hadn’t returned since her father’s funeral four years ago.

Opening her bag, she took out the solicitor’s letter and looked at it again. It merely confirmed the date of today’s meeting when the will of the late Mrs Isobel Theotokis would be discussed. As she slipped the letter back into its envelope, Helena’s eyes moistened briefly. Mrs Theotokis, who’d been her father’s long-time employer, had obviously not forgotten Helena, nor her promise all those years ago that the precious porcelain figurines which had so fascinated the child would one day be hers.

Helena checked her appearance briefly in the car’s interior mirror. Her generously fringed, widely spaced blue eyes seemed to glitter in certain lights, and someone had once said that they belonged in a stained glass window. She had regular features and a small nose, and her milky skin, though typically English rose, reacted well to the sun’s rays so that most summers she looked prettily tanned. And today she had chosen to wind her thick blonde hair up on top into a coiled knot.

She got out of the car and presented herself at the solicitor’s office. The girl at the reception desk looked up and smiled.

‘Ah, yes—Miss Kingston? Good afternoon.’ She stood up and immediately led Helena towards an inner door. ‘Mr Mayhew is waiting for you.’

As Helena was ushered inside, John Mayhew, the senior partner, stood up at once and came forward to greet her. He was a short, affable man with white bushy eyebrows and a moustache to match and he shook Helena’s hand warmly.

‘Thank you for making the trip, Helena,’ he said kindly, and the girl’s throat tightened briefly. She was known to John Mayhew because her father’s modest affairs had also been handled by this firm, and the last time she’d been here was to finally settle everything up—and it hadn’t taken long.

‘Do take a seat,’ the man said, adding, ‘The other… interested party… has been delayed slightly. But he should be here any minute.’

Even as he spoke, the door opened and Helena turned her head, colour rising rapidly in her cheeks, leaving her breathless as the layers of her memory peeled away. She was suddenly weightless, floating backwards in space… she was in free fall!

Oscar! Helena formed the name silently under her breath. Oscar…

This was Isobel’s great-nephew whom Helena, three years his junior, had once worshipped… Oscar, who had initiated her into the first heady delights of romantic love. But that had been more than ten years ago… a lifetime away.

She forced herself to try and breathe normally as she looked up at him.

It was no surprise that he was still the most mind-numbingly handsome man she had ever seen—or would ever see—wearing his overt sensuality like a permanent badge of office. Helena gripped her hands together tightly. Why hadn’t she thought that they might possibly meet again—and under these particular circumstances? But it had not crossed her mind, and she’d not been ready for it. But she met his gaze levelly as he looked down at her.

His glossy black hair was styled more formally than she remembered, but the chiselled, dark-skinned features, the expansive brow, the firm uncompromising mouth—that had closed over hers so many times—were still as enchanting as they had always been.

He was wearing a formal suit perfectly designed to do justice to his lean, powerful physique, but he had no tie on, his crisp white shirt partially open at the front, revealing the merest glimpse of dark bodily hair at the throat. Helena swallowed over a dry tongue as he looked down at her.

John Mayhew broke the few moments’ silence. ‘I am sure you two must have met in the past,’ he said, ‘but let me introduce you again…’

Before he could go on, Oscar cut in, the familiar voice rich and evocative, with only a trace of his cruelly seductive native tongue. ‘No need for that, John,’ he said slowly. ‘Helena and I know each other from when I used to visit my great-aunt at holiday times.’ He paused, moving forward slightly, extending a strong brown hand in greeting. Then, ‘How are you, Heleena?’ And Helena’s heart quickened. Because that had been Oscar’s occasional, special pronunciation of her name. And hearing it again made her inner thighs tingle.

‘I am well, thank you,’ Helena responded coolly, half-standing to meet his outstretched hand. His long, sensitive fingers curled against her own, making her colour rise again. ‘And you… Oscar?’

‘Good, thank you,’ he said briefly. He sat down on one of the big leather armchairs opposite John Mayhew’s desk, and glanced briefly at Helena again. Pale, sometimes wistful, Helena had become a stunning, sophisticated female, exhibiting all of nature’s attributes, he thought. She was wearing a dark blue, fine woollen suit and cream shirt and very high heeled shoes, her slender legs clad in sheer dark tights. As she looked across at him, her lips were slightly parted as if she was about to say something, but it was her eyes, those blue, blue eyes which had once known the touch of his lips, their charisma remained, unique, unforgettable. Oscar straightened up and turned his attention to the solicitor.

After all the usual polite greetings had been exchanged, John Mayhew opened a large file in front of him and began to read.

‘“This is the last will and testament of Isabel Marina Theotokis of Mulberry Court in the county of Dorset…”’ he read out, before proceeding to chant the detailed formalities. Watching him with her hands clasped in her lap, Helena was relieved that her heart rate was returning to something approaching normality. She wondered how many times in his life John Mayhew would have performed this task. Probably too many to count, she thought, hoping that the interview wouldn’t last long and she could escape. The room was beginning to feel warm as afternoon sunlight filtered in through the high windows, and she automatically leaned forward, forcing herself to concentrate, and trying to ignore the faint musky drift of Oscar’s aftershave.

Clearing his throat, the solicitor continued.

‘“To my beloved great-nephew Oscar Ioannis Theotokis I leave one half of the property known as Mulberry Court in the county of Dorset together with all its contents, goods and chattels.”’ Adjusting his spectacles, he went on, “And I also bequeath one half of the said property known as Mulberry Court with all its contents goods and chattels to my dear longtime friend Helena Kingston. All and everything to be shared equally between the two aforesaid parties.”’

What had he just said? Immediately shocked beyond belief, Helena gasped and almost stood up. This isn’t right, she thought wildly. It was Isobel’s coveted figurines in the library which she had promised would one day be Helena’s… not the house! Not Mulberry Court! There had to be some mistake!

If she’d been struck by something hurtling from outer space Helena couldn’t have felt more stunned… And she was not going to look across at Oscar because—if this was true, and she quickly realized that it obviously had to be—she had virtually been given half his birthright! How on earth was he going to accept that? That the daughter of his great-aunt’s gardener was to receive such wealth! It was preposterous!

She forced herself to listen as the names of all the other beneficiaries were read out. There was a very long list, including a substantial sum of money for Louise, her housekeeper, and countless charities and local organizations were included, but it was clear that the two main beneficiaries were Helena and Oscar.

‘As in many cases, there are one or two details which have been added at the end,’ the solicitor said. ‘For your information, Mrs Theotokis has given some instructions.’ There was a long pause before he went on. ‘She asks that Mulberry Court is not put up for sale until one year from the date of her death, and she asks that, if possible, prior consideration be given to a couple with a family.’ He looked up. ‘I happen to know that it was a matter of great regret to Isobel that she and Mr Theotokis never had children of their own.’ He smiled. ‘Maybe she is hoping that, one day, childish noise and chatter may echo through the rooms and grounds of Mulberry Court,’ he said, ‘and if it ever does,’ he added kindly, ‘I am quite sure that she will hear it all from her well-deserved place in heaven.’

Hearing those words made a painful lump form in Helena’s throat. Isobel Theotokis had been a gracious, kind and loving woman to everyone who’d crossed her path, and her final act of generosity to Helena was to actually give her part of the home she’d loved so much. What an incredible gift, an incredible honour! It was totally unbelievable, but in the short term how was it going to affect her? And just as important—what was it going to mean to Oscar? He wouldn’t want to waste any time here—or anywhere else—that might distract him, even temporarily, from the famous Theotokis family business empire.

There was complete silence for a few moments, then Helena pulled herself together and looked across at Oscar’s stern profile, trying to stem the hot tide of feeling that was rippling through every nerve and fibre of her body.

‘Although I feel almost totally overwhelmed,’ she began, trying to sound normal, ‘it would be wrong of me not to say how very… grateful… I feel to have been remembered in such a way by Mrs Theotokis.’ She hesitated, hoping she was saying all the right things. ‘I shall, of course, do whatever is considered necessary to… well… to assist in any way I can,’ she added, wondering what on earth anyone did when suddenly coming into a fortune that included a massive property full of treasures.

For the following few minutes Helena could barely concentrate on what the other two were saying, but presently, after some further formalities had been dealt with, the solicitor handed over two large bunches of keys, and Helena stared down at the set in her hand—her very own keys to Mulberry Court! And the way she was feeling at the moment, they might have been a ticking time bomb!

They all got to their feet, and as Helena looked up into Oscar’s eyes—which were glittering like ice-cold granite—she couldn’t begin to imagine what was going through his mind. The revelation that they were now joint owners of his great-aunt’s home must have been as great a shock to him as to her, she thought—that she, Helena, was going to be playing an important part in his life, at least for the next year. Then, lifting her head, she thought—well, it wasn’t her fault, and they were both going to have to make the best of whatever lay ahead.

After they’d been assured of Mayhew & Morrison’s wish to be of further service when necessary, the two left the building together, and in the late afternoon sunshine stood outside briefly.

‘Well—’ Oscar shrugged and looked down at her with half-narrowed gaze. ‘That was something of a surprise,’ he said. And that remark was something of an understatement, Helena thought. For both of them. ‘Still,’ he went on, ‘I’m sure we can come to some arrangement that suits us both.’ The comment was casually made—as if he was merely referring to one of life’s irritating necessities—and, before Helena could reply, he went on, ‘I’ll get someone to value the place in the first instance, give us some idea of value until we sell next year.’ He shook his head briefly. ‘Isobel requesting a delay is obviously going to hold us up. It would have been more convenient to have got things done and out of the way as soon as possible.’

Helena looked up at him, still feeling shattered, still finding it hard to take all this in. Was she really here again with Oscar—about to embark on a serious business venture? Oscar, who’d been the true love of her life when she’d been on the cusp of womanhood. Oscar, who had shown her what desire, and being desired, meant? Their romantic meetings, many of them under the graceful branches of the willow tree beyond the orchard—their special willow tree—were indelibly imprinted in her memory, as was the way it had all ended so abruptly… as he had ended it so abruptly, with little explanation. After one of his visits, Oscar had simply walked away—and taken her heart with him. She bit her lip thoughtfully. Had their relationship ever crossed his mind since? she wondered. Had he ever felt anything at all—regret or remorse, or even sadness at losing something which had once been precious? Probably not, she thought realistically. She would only be one in a very long list of women who’d experienced his particular craft in the romantic stakes.

She swallowed hard, forcing herself to stop thinking along these lines. There was no point in digging up the past, even mentally, and she had quite enough on her mind—not counting today’s revelation—to focus on. To sort out.

Looking up at Oscar, she realized that he hadn’t expressed one word of appreciation that his great-aunt had remembered him in this way, but then, why would he? He was a bona fide member of the fabulously rich Theotokis dynasty, with vast worldwide business concerns. Mulberry Court and ‘all its goods and chattels’ would be no more than a blot of ink on Oscar’s personal portfolio, and he was no doubt thinking that he could well do without this annoying interruption in his life, especially as it was going to include someone else—her! She lifted her chin.

‘First of all, I think we need to discuss one or two things,’ she said calmly. She paused. ‘I happen to know that Isobel’s personal belongings were tremendously important to her, and we should consider that point very carefully.’ Mulberry Court was full of treasures—as well as those priceless figurines—which Isobel Theotokis had brought home from all the travelling she’d done in her life.

‘Oh, valuers—experts in the trade—will deal with all the paintings and antiques. They’ll ensure that everything’s sold appropriately,’ Oscar began. ‘At least we can start to sort that out straight away.’

Helena frowned briefly. How typically masculine! He had no problem with Isobel’s cherished belongings being handed over to complete strangers to ‘deal’ with, without a thought as to what everything had meant to the old lady. Well, Helena wasn’t having that. She had spent so many happy hours at Mulberry Court when she’d been growing up—had almost been like the child Isobel had never had.

‘I don’t think that’s a good idea,’ she said. ‘I think that that part of the equation should be our responsibility alone, without the input of strangers.’

Oscar raised his eyebrows—more in surprise that Helena had voiced her opinion than what she’d actually said. He shrugged.

‘Well, yes, perhaps,’ he said reluctantly, accepting for the first time that they both had to agree on everything before any action could be taken. ‘But I’m afraid my time here is very limited. I’m due back in Greece by the end of the month, though I expect to be in the London office until then.’ He paused. ‘What about your own commitments?’ he asked. ‘I remember Isobel mentioning that you live and work in London.’

Helena nodded. ‘I head the team at the Harcourt Employment Agency at the moment,’ she said, ‘but I have started looking for something else.’ She bit her lip. So far, she’d found nothing which offered anything comparable with her present salary, nor the lovely mews cottage she was renting as part of the deal.

‘You’re not happy there?’ Oscar asked briefly.

Helena paused before answering. ‘It’s just… just that I think it’s time for a change,’ she replied guardedly.

There was silence for a moment, then, ‘I could come back this weekend—if you’re free as well,’ Oscar said. ‘A couple of days should be enough to give us a clear picture of what has to be done.’

‘As it happens I am free, and it would be a start,’ Helena said, ‘but it’s bound to take some time, and we shouldn’t rush things.’ She paused. ‘I intend to take the matter very seriously—and do my utmost for Isobel… in her memory,’ she added.

She began walking across to where she’d parked her car, with Oscar following, and she opened her bag. ‘In the meantime,’ she said, ‘if you think you need to contact me, here’s my card.’

He glanced at it briefly, then withdrew his own from his wallet and handed it to her, and without even looking at it Helena slipped it into her bag.

‘I must get back,’ she said, glancing at her watch. ‘The roads are going to be a lot busier than they were this morning.’

He held open her door for her, and as she got in she looked up at him through the open window, wondering if she should apologize for the situation they’d found themselves in—the situation that he’d been landed in. But before a single word had formed on her lips, Helena checked herself. She had nothing to say sorry for. Isobel Theotokis had every right to dispose of her property in whichever way she wanted.

‘So—I’ll come back down on Friday night,’ she said, ‘and that’ll give us Saturday and Sunday to have a proper discussion and look over the house.’ She switched on the engine. ‘I’ll book myself a room locally,’ she added.

‘I’ll have to stay somewhere myself,’ he said casually, ‘so I’ll see to it. I’ll leave you a message to let you know the arrangements.’

‘Oh… OK. Fine. Thanks,’ Helena said, and with a brief wave of her hand she began driving slowly out of the car park, glancing in her rear-view mirror to see Oscar standing there, watching her go. She’d love to have been able to read his mind! So far he’d been cool, almost impassive, at their news, and once or twice she’d caught him staring at her with an inscrutable expression on his face. But it was good that there’d been no obvious sense of awkwardness between them, she thought, though there wasn’t much doubt that he was wishing he was now the sole owner of Mulberry Court.

As she began her journey back to London, Helena felt mightily relieved to be alone with her thoughts. She, Helena Kingston, had just been left a fortune, and it was like winning a lottery she’d never entered. But was she prepared for such wealth? Her beloved father, a widower for many years, having lost his wife when Helena had been just ten, had left a very modest inheritance for his only child. Money which she had put aside for the day when she might need it for something special. And so far she never had, thanks to her successful career.

But quite apart from everything else—apart from even the amazing legacy she had just received—there was another problem she had to face: she and Oscar were going to have to spend time together again under totally bizarre circumstances. This wasn’t ten years ago when they’d both been young and carefree and so in love, something which had been so important then, but which would be utterly embarrassing to even mention now. Did he remember any of it? she wondered. Did he remember all the time they’d spent walking, talking, kissing and enjoying spending time with each other? How could either of them pretend it had never happened? Helena made a face to herself. If he did remember any of it, he’d also have to remember how he’d dumped her—but then, he’d probably dumped so many other women since, she was just another note on whatever mental record he kept of his love life.

As Oscar got into his own car, his feelings were in turmoil. Because it had given his emotions a huge and undeniable jolt to see Helena today.

His handsome brow creased into a frown and his hands, tense on the steering wheel, became pale under his grip as he sat there for a few moments, deep in thought.

What had he done to her? What had he done to himself, to them both? Why had he allowed fate to rule their lives? Because when he had looked down into her wide, misty eyes, he was aware of his heart exploding into a million painful fragments of regret. The heart which had taken so long to heal had shattered again, renewing his sense of loss.

Over time, Oscar had managed to convince himself that he would probably never see Helena again. But he’d thought about her often enough, wondered who she’d married, how many beautiful children she might have. And while trying to concentrate on what was going on around them today, he’d automatically noted that there was no gold band on her ring finger and every male instinct he possessed had urged him to pull her up towards him, to enfold her, to taste her mouth again.

But he knew that would not have gone down very well. Why would she ever want him near her again? A nerve clenched in his strong jaw as his thoughts ran on.

Of course, it was not unexpected that he should be named as a beneficiary in his great-aunt’s will because he was now the only member of his generation left—he’d never had siblings and his two cousins had been killed in a multiple car crash. But although he’d always known that Isobel had been very fond of Helena, the will had taken him by surprise, he admitted. Not that he cared a jot about having to share the value involved; that was irrelevant. Great wealth had never interested him in a personal sense. It was only the continuing success of the family firm that was important—ever since he’d realized that it was his destiny.

Destiny. Oscar’s lip curled briefly. There was still one, more vital, personal expectation of him which he had so far not fulfilled. To find himself a suitable wife. And if his father—Georgios—had his wish, a wife from the rich Papadopoulos family, who had important financial ties with the Theotokis clan.

‘It is about time you married and settled down, Oscar,’ Giorgios frequently said. ‘A good Greek wife would be a wonderful support, a wonderful investment! Would bless you with many children! There are those two beautiful daughters just waiting for you to make up your mind! Either of them would make you a happy man! What is your problem?’

The ‘problem’ was, Oscar knew he did not love either Allegra or Callidora Papadopoulos, desirable though they were. And no other woman, yet, had made him want to commit to lifelong love and loyalty. Because when he did find such a woman—if she existed—that was how it must be. For ever. And Oscar knew he would never view any wife as an ‘investment’—as his father clearly did. Profit and loss were not part of the equation. Unconditional love was the only thing that mattered.

Now, straightening his shoulders, Oscar switched on the engine and prepared to drive away. For the foreseeable future he had a more immediate matter to resolve—the disposal of Mulberry Court and its contents. And it would be unavoidable that he and Helena would be spending a great deal of time together and that she was going to have to be consulted every step of the way.

* * *

Oscar had already decided which accommodation they’d be using and now, leaving Dorchester, he drove rapidly towards the Horseshoe Inn, an out-of-town up-market establishment a few miles away. It was small but well-appointed, and discreet—somewhere they could talk and get this business sorted without too many distractions. Vast hotels had never had any appeal for Oscar and he never used them if he could help it. And when in London he always used his private apartment, where he looked after himself and where this car—a favourite among the several others he owned—could be safely garaged.

Now, as the sleek grey Italian sports car took him swiftly to his destination, he remembered how confidently Helena had manoeuvred her own vehicle out of the overcrowded car park and he tilted one eyebrow thoughtfully. Her car was obviously not new, but in reasonable condition—and probably perfectly adequate for London use, he thought.

Although in recent years his aunt had often spoken of Helena—and always in glowing terms—he didn’t really know anything about her career. His eyes narrowed slightly as a thought struck him. Perhaps he could pay her off, give her far and away more than the combined value of the house and all its assets and leave the business of disposing of everything to him? Surely it would be tidier all round if just one of them was involved. Wouldn’t she find that far less hassle than having to spend time down here? Then he made a face to himself, discounting the thought almost at once. Helena—obviously very confident and self-assured—had given every indication that she intended being full-on in the whole assignment. He groaned inwardly. Aunt Isobel, he thought, I always loved you, but why have you done this to me?

CHAPTER TWO

AFTER a fairly tedious journey home, Helena made herself some toast and a mug of hot chocolate, then undressed and went into her bathroom for a shower. As the warm water began drenching her body and releasing the tension in her tired muscles, she kept reliving every moment of that incredible afternoon. Her life had changed! The world had changed! Well, it was certainly going to be different.

But Helena knew that all the formalities of the day, and the enormous significance of inheriting a fortune, were as nothing compared with the overpowering feelings she’d experienced at meeting Oscar again. Lifting her hair from the nape of her neck, she soaped her skin languidly, smoothing the sponge across her shoulders and down her arms, conscious that even thinking of him made her feel sensuous, dangerously sensitive. She remembered how her face had flamed crimson red as his brilliant dark eyes had bored into hers, how her pulse had raced, her tongue had dried as he’d stared down at her. She had wanted to look away, to escape from his entrapping gaze, but she hadn’t been able to. She’d been transfixed by his nearness, helpless beneath his scrutiny, and she’d wanted to scream out in protest that she was no longer a young, inexperienced, naïve teenager! She’d grown up and moved far, far away from his sphere of influence! Her need for him had long since dissipated, had been replaced by all of life’s other imperatives, like standing on her own two feet, holding down a good job that earned her enough money to survive in London’s fast track world. And to make and keep friends, form relationships… to just be. Without him.

Yet now, it seemed, she was being forced to stand within his aura of light once again. But this time in a business capacity. How was she going to live through that?

Helena sighed as she reached for a towel, just thinking of business bringing her back down to earth and her present problems—the problems she’d been facing before today’s revelations. Her problems with relationships.

Her split with Mark had happened two months ago—unexpectedly and painfully. And the trouble was that she kept bumping into him with the new ‘love of his life’, as he’d described her, both of them looking blissfully happy. That was bad enough, but then almost at once Simon Harcourt had started getting amorous towards her. Lately his attentions had become so annoying that Helena felt she would have no alternative but to leave the job, soon. Even if it did mean having to give up the cottage that went with it.

What she’d really like to do, Helena thought savagely, was to emigrate and get right away from everyone she knew in London and live in a completely different environment. Just until she got into calmer emotional waters.

Then, even as the unlikely thought of emigration crossed her mind, another amazing one struck her and she stared at her own reflection in the steamed-up mirror for a second. Could Isobel have given her an unexpected lifeline, an escape? Could such an impossible, fleeting idea work?

If she were to go and stay—well, live—just for a short time at Mulberry Court, she could reassess things and take stock of her situation. For the first time she would be in her very own home—well, partly her very own home—and find some peace to really recover from the emotional switchback she’d been riding lately. It would make it easy to give Simon her notice because she could tell him, quite truthfully, that her circumstances had changed and that for the next year she was needed in Dorset.

A wave of excitement swept over Helena as she considered all this. It really could be a temporary answer, she thought. She had enough money saved to pay for her immediate needs and anyway there was sure to be temping work she could find in Dorchester when she needed to.

She bit her lip thoughtfully. The big question was—what would Oscar think of her taking up residence, even temporary residence? Would he be agreeable to that? Wouldn’t he think it opportunistic of her… or even inappropriate?

Presently, as she slipped into her nightdress, her mobile beeped, indicating a text message from Oscar: ‘Horseshoe Inn bkd wk end. Meet Fri nt O.’

Helena snapped the phone shut, wondering where he was now. What was he doing, and was he thinking about her at all? Was he feeling as confused about the afternoon’s bombshell as she was? No, of course he wasn’t, on either count, she decided at once. This would be a pretty insignificant affair to him, just another small and inconvenient detail in his important life which had to be sorted out. And everything in his attitude towards her had suggested that she, Helena Kingston, was merely part of that unwelcome inconvenience.

She slid gratefully into bed and pulled the duvet up around her shoulders, wondering whether she’d ever be able to get any sleep. She wished she had someone close that she could share her news with, a brother or a sister—it was far too late to ring her best friend, Anna. But still, she was used to steering her own way through life’s sometimes turbulent waters without anyone’s hand to hold on to. And she was certainly not going to let this particular tsunami sweep her under the waves.

Snuggling down, she tried to shut everything from her mind, to calm herself into believing that it would all seem straightforward in the morning. But how could it? Because behind her closed lids all she could see were Oscar’s intense black eyes in their pools of startling white, gazing at her with that heart-stopping expression that had always sent shivers down her spine.

On Friday evening, Helena had no trouble in finding the Horseshoe Inn, though it was unknown to her. Situated on a private road and nestling amongst trees, the Grade II listed building backed on to open country, and after her long drive it looked like heaven.

Inside, the tall, bearded man standing in the small reception area by the crowded bar smiled at her enquiringly. ‘Hi there,’ he said. ‘I’m Adam—can I help?’

‘I believe accommodation has been booked for me for a couple of nights,’ Helena said. ‘I’m Helena Kingston.’

‘Of course—yes.’ The man glanced at the huge calendar in front of him. ‘Room numbers two and five have been allocated, one for Mr Theotokis and one for yourself,’ he said, smiling again. He paused. ‘Would you like something to drink before I show you to your room? The chef’s on duty until midnight if you’d like a meal,’ he added.

Immediately, Helena felt completely at ease. The inn had a sophisticated air, yet was welcoming and reassuring, its ambience the sort she imagined Oscar would approve of—though what his opinions, likes and dislikes were she actually had no idea of at all. Not now, not any more. But, hopefully, they might have just enough in their shared pasts to make this unlooked for alliance reasonably pleasant. Helena certainly hoped so, even though his reaction to the news had been slightly ambivalent.

‘I’d love a pot of tea in about ten minutes, and perhaps a sandwich?’ Helena said, glancing over to the lively-looking restaurant area at the far end. She picked up the small case she’d brought with her, then hesitated. ‘Is Mr Theotokis about?’

‘Haven’t seen him—and he hasn’t booked in yet,’ Adam said, taking a key from one of the pegs on the wall. ‘Let me show you the way,’ he said, taking Helena’s case from her.

Her charmingly rustic bedroom with every conceivable mod con was going to suit her very well, Helena thought as she looked around her. She’d be quite happy to stay here for a couple of nights. Sitting on the edge of the huge double bed for a moment, she glanced at her watch. It was getting late and she’d imagined Oscar to have been here by now, and she wasn’t sure what to do next. Would he expect her to wait around for him until he turned up, or could she go to bed after she’d had her tea?

At that exact moment her mobile rang. It was Oscar. ‘Helena, I’m sorry to be this late,’ he said. Then, ‘I take it you found the place OK?’

‘I did, and my room is excellent—thanks.’

There was a pause. ‘I’m not far away, so I should arrive in twenty minutes or so.’

‘Shall I… Would you like me to order something for you?’ Helena asked. ‘I’m told the chef’s still on duty.’

‘You can order me a whisky—but nothing to eat, thanks,’ Oscar said, and without another word he rang off.

By the time he arrived almost half an hour later, Helena had eaten the sandwiches she’d ordered for herself, and was sitting in a quiet corner of the still busy bar with her glass of wine and Oscar’s whisky already on the table. He came straight over and sat down opposite her.

‘Hi,’ he said briefly, then picked up his glass and took a generous swallow. ‘You obviously got here with no difficulty,’ he said, sitting down, and feeling fleetingly pleased to be with someone he knew—or knew once. And she was looking good—amazing, in fact—in her jeans and striped sweater, her hair tied back in a long ponytail.

Helena couldn’t help noting the dark expression on his features, and an uncomfortable chill ran through her. He was obviously thoroughly annoyed at being so late, she thought—or maybe he wasn’t appreciating having to be here at all—with her. Helena’s spirits sank at the thought of what lay ahead of them, of how he might view everything to do with their shared legacy. And, now that he’d had time to mull it over, how he was viewing her significant presence in the whole affair. Was he going to expect her to meekly see his point of view—to kowtow just because of who he was? And would she ever have the nerve to put her suggestion to him about staying at the house? He certainly didn’t seem in a particularly positive mood at the moment, she thought.

‘Anyway, it’s rather late for us to discuss anything tonight,’ he said briefly. ‘So we’ll have an early breakfast in the morning, then spend the rest of the day at Mulberry Court and catalogue all the items that need disposing of.’ He took another drink. ‘The quicker we make a start, the better.’

Helena finished her wine and picked up her bag. ‘I’m aware that you have a very busy life, Oscar,’ she said firmly, ‘but…’ She paused. ‘I would really like to spend some time just looking around Isobel’s home, revisiting something of my past, perhaps,’ she said. ‘I knew Mulberry Court so well when I was growing up, but it is such a long time since I was there—I wasn’t even able to make the funeral—which upset me a lot. And Isobel’s death was so sudden—so totally unexpected.’ She paused.

‘Yes, I thought you’d been forgotten,’ Oscar said, ‘that your name had somehow been omitted from the long list of my aunt’s friends and acquaintances who would have been informed of her death.’

‘No, I wasn’t forgotten—and I did explain later, with my apologies,’ Helena said carefully. ‘I was actually ill in bed with a horrendous attack of flu,’ she added, surprised that her attendance at what would have been a very crowded occasion had been missed by anyone—especially Isobel’s ambitious great-nephew. She stood up.

‘Well, then, I’ll see you in the morning,’ she said, and Oscar stood as well, looking down at her briefly.

‘Yes, and tomorrow you can have your little trip down memory lane,’ he said obliquely.

After she’d gone, Oscar bought himself another whisky and sat back down, relieved that the golden liquid was beginning to calm him, bringing him back to normal. The reason behind his lateness had been an accident that had shaken him up quite badly. In all the countless hours of driving he’d done, he’d never been caught up in anything like it—and he hoped he never would again. One of the first on the scene, and having to rescue two young kids from the back of a car that had seemed ready to burst into flames, had been a shattering experience. But the emergency services had arrived in an impressively short time and had been fulsome in their praise of Oscar’s quick thinking—which, when he thought about it now, had been purely instinctive. He drank quickly again. It was a miracle that no one had been killed or badly hurt, though the young mother who’d been driving had clearly been in deep shock. Thank God he’d been there at just the right moment to be of some use.

After a while, his thoughts turned to his reasons for being here. In the few days which had elapsed since the reading of the will, he’d had time to think things over and had to accept that its contents—and instructions—were hardly Helena’s fault. But one thing was certain—it was going to be a major inconvenience for both of them. Though, from what she had said just now, she was going to take her time. Well, if there was too much procrastination he’d have to hurry her up a bit, he decided.

He fingered his glass thoughtfully, that other idea occurring to him again. Could he get her to agree to sell him her share straight away? She might be glad of some quick money—living in London was expensive, and she could certainly do with a new car.

He drained his glass and went over to the bar for the key to his room. Adam looked up and smiled. ‘Everything all right, Mr Theotokis?’ he asked.

‘I certainly hope it’s going to be,’ Oscar said enigmatically.

‘No, no, no! You can’t do this to me… it isn’t fair! You shan’t have them… you can have the house, you can have everything… but these are mine! Isobel promised!’ And then a low, pitiful scream followed as the figurines fell to the floor and shattered into a thousand pieces. Helena sat bolt upright in bed, putting her hand to her mouth. Had she screamed out loud just then—had anyone heard her? That was one of the most awful, vivid dreams she’d ever had in her life. But this dream—this nightmare—had been so strong it had actually felt physical. She had felt Oscar’s hands holding hers in an iron grip as they’d both struggled for possession of the beautiful ornaments. Pushing and pulling each other like demented creatures. But Helena had been no match for his masculine strength and with that cry of despair she had released her hold and watched her precious figurines destroyed before her eyes.

As the early dawn light filtered in through the slightly parted curtains at the window, Helena allowed herself a shaky smile as she waited for her heart rate to return to normal. Thank goodness for dreams, she thought, because that was all they were—mythical wanderings of a half-awake mind. Her figurines were not smashed, they were still safely in their place at Mulberry Court, but could her dream have been a warning? she wondered. A warning to stand her ground with Isobel’s nephew and not let herself be intimidated by the fact that he was a true blood relative and she a complete outsider?

Oscar had decided that they should start the day early, and Helena made her way downstairs to the restaurant for breakfast as early as possible.

He was already seated reading a morning paper, a large cafetière of coffee in front of him, and he stood up as Helena came in and glanced down at her. She was wearing slimline black trousers and a pale blue shirt, her hair tied back away from her face, which was devoid of make-up. She looked rather wan today, he thought, and for the merest second he saw again the lovely, innocent girl of long ago. He pulled out a chair for her to sit down.

‘I’m impressed,’ he said. Then, ‘I didn’t expect to see you for at least another hour.’

Helena shot him a look as she took her seat. ‘I’m used to getting up early,’ she said. She wasn’t going to tell him that it was the horrible dream she’d had which had woken her at dawn.

Declining Oscar’s invitation to share his coffee, Helena decided to order a pot of tea for herself, feeling very thankful that he, too, seemed to need little to eat. She had never been a breakfast person.

Later, driving rapidly in Oscar’s car, they arrived at Mulberry Court and as they made their way along the broad, curved drive, Helena felt her stomach churn. This was now her house—partly her very own property. The much loved building she’d privately thought of as home all those years ago was legally hers! She still felt it too incredible to believe as she sat with her hands clasped in her lap, looking around her.

There, to one side, and out of sight of the main entrance, were the two semi-detached staff cottages, one each for the housekeeper and the gardener, and Helena turned her head to gaze back as they went past. After her mother had died, Helena and her father had come from their rented house in Dorchester to live in the gardener’s cottage and for the following eight years, until she’d gone to university, she had lived what she now thought of as a charmed life, roaming free in the wonderful Dorset countryside and the extensive grounds of Mulberry Court, where her father had been the full-time gardener and general factotum. Louise, a local woman, had been Isobel’s housekeeper and cook, and Helena would frequently drop in next door to enjoy her company—and share her wonderful home-made cakes.

As for Paul Theotokis, Isobel’s husband, Helena had barely seen him at all. He had been a rather shadowy figure, constantly away looking after his business interests, but when Helena was about thirteen Paul had died suddenly, and the impressionable child had been amazed at the extravagant funeral arrangements and the hundreds of people who’d attended. Huge, glistening cars arriving, one after the other.

‘Who lives in our… I mean… who lives in the gardener’s cottage now?’ Helena asked curiously.

Oscar glanced across at her. ‘Benjamin. He joined the “firm”, as my aunt liked to call it, a month or so after your father died,’ he said shortly.

‘And Louise? I know she’s still here, isn’t she?’

‘She is. She’s been keeping everything ticking over until… well, until the future becomes clearer,’ Oscar said. ‘But she’s having a few days away in Durham with a cousin at the moment, I believe,’ he added.

Poor Louise, Helena thought. Mulberry Court—and her little cottage—had been her home for so many years. Now there was the prospect of no home, and no employment, either.

Oscar drew the car slowly to a halt outside the entrance door to Mulberry Court, and they both got out and went into the house. And as soon as she stepped over the threshold, the smell of the place filled Helena with a warm rush of welcome. She took a deep breath, feeling almost faint for a second as a wave of nostalgia rippled through her.

‘It’s been such a long time,’ she said quietly. ‘Although Isobel very kindly arranged a small reception here for my father’s funeral, it was held in the conservatory… and, anyway, I was so… distraught… I hardly knew where I was at the time.’

Oscar gave her a sidelong glance. ‘I haven’t been here myself much, either,’ he admitted. ‘There just never seems to be the time… or a suitable opportunity.’

Together, and not saying much, they wandered through the rooms on the ground floor, Oscar making notes as they went, though Helena didn’t bother to follow suit. To her this was all so familiar, and little seemed to have changed, she noticed happily.

The glistening, well appointed kitchen was exactly as she knew it would be—the Aga still comfortingly warm and, in the dining room next door, the huge polished rosewood table was graced by the customary massive fresh flower arrangement in its centre. Helena smiled inwardly. Louise had obviously been determined that standards wouldn’t be allowed to drop just because Isobel was no longer there.

The main sitting room leading into the conservatory was still furnished exactly the same, though the heavy ivory-coloured curtains at the full-length windows were new, she noted. The smaller occasional room next door was where Helena and Isobel had spent many evenings together playing Scrabble or watching television.

Further along was the library, which had always been Helena’s favourite place, and now, as they went inside, she was stupidly relieved to see that her figurines were still there in their usual softly lit alcove.

But dominating the room on the opposite wall was the amazing gold-framed portrait of Isobel, and Helena had to put her hand over her mouth to stop her lips from trembling.

The painting was so touchingly real that it felt as if Isobel might get up from the chair she was seated in and step forward to greet the two of them in the room. She was shown wearing a soft, loosely fitting dress in a delicate shade of pink, her luxuriant silver hair elegantly coiffed on top, her large grey eyes smiling that gentle smile that Helena knew so well.

As with the other rooms, every available space was taken up to display all the ornaments to best effect and, as they turned to go, Oscar clicked his tongue, looking back briefly.

‘My aunt was some collector,’ he remarked obliquely. He refused to acquire much for his own homes, preferring to keep his space empty and clutter-free—much like his life.

‘Yes—but there are collectors, and collectors,’ Helena said, immediately on the defensive. ‘Every single thing here is exactly right for its situation. Isobel had an eye for such things and she had wonderful taste—and it shows.’ She paused, her head on one side. ‘I don’t know what you intend… I mean… I don’t know what your opinion is, but I think it’s best if everything is left exactly as it is for the time being—until after the sale of the house, I mean. I don’t think we should move a thing. After all, any prospective buyer is going to be far more impressed when viewing a property that looks lived-in… loved… cared for.’ She looked up at Oscar earnestly. ‘Once everything’s gone, the house will be just an empty shell. Lifeless.’ The fact was, she admitted, she couldn’t bear to see Isobel’s beloved home broken up and sold off in bits and pieces, even though it was inevitable one day. To Helena, it would seem like the ultimate betrayal.

A nerve pulsed in Oscar’s neck as he looked down at her, and he was aware of a certain hunger he hadn’t felt for a very long time.

‘We’ll have to think about that,’ he said, averting his gaze. Then, ‘By the way, as far as I’m concerned, you’re welcome to have anything you want… Take it now.’ He paused. ‘I don’t need any of this,’ he added.

Helena looked up at him seriously. No, I don’t expect you do need anything, she thought. And did she, Helena, need anything? Despite her prospective inheritance, she could never envisage a time when she’d eventually settle somewhere which would happily house such wealth.

‘I don’t want to think about what I want, or don’t want or need,’ she said coolly. ‘Not now. Not yet.’ She paused, her gaze lingering on the figurines for a second. ‘Only those over there—the shepherd and shepherdess—they are the only things that I would love to have.’

‘Feel free to take them, but it’ll all have to go eventually,’ Oscar said firmly. ‘Putting off the inevitable is just procrastination.’ And procrastination hinders progress, he thought. He avoided procrastination wherever possible.

Presently, Helena followed Oscar up the wide staircase to the first floor. Immediately ahead, there were the four bedrooms, and around the corner to the next wing were two more, all with en suite bathrooms, the long windows on this generous landing lighting up the pattern on the richly carpeted floor.

Helena caught her breath as her memories kept flooding in. This was the first time in over nine years that she had been upstairs at Mulberry Court and she had to resist the temptation to run along and throw open the door of the room at the far end which had been ‘hers’—the one in which she had stayed on the few occasions that her father had had to go away.

‘Isobel had so many friends… I remember she was always entertaining, always having people to stay. These rooms were never empty for long,’ Helena said, adding, ‘I stayed here once or twice.’

‘And… this was my room,’ Oscar remarked, throwing open the door to the one they’d come to. He paused, looking around him. ‘I used to enjoy my visits,’ he added, and Helena’s heart missed a beat. Could he actually have forgotten what his visits had meant to her—to both of them? Had he completely obliterated those times from his memory? Had they meant nothing?

After a few more minutes they went outside to wander through the grounds. The kitchen garden at the back was still flourishing and well-kept, Helena noticed, trying not to feel too sad that someone else was now in charge there. Though Benjamin didn’t seem to be around today.

Nothing had changed outside, either, she thought, her eye drawn towards the secluded wooded path that led to their willow tree and, even after all this time, Helena could feel her senses swim at the memory of the intoxicating moments she and Oscar had experienced together. Yet they were walking here now as if none of it had ever happened. As if they were two strangers in a foreign place…

Without her realizing it, Oscar had been looking down at her as they walked, his eyes following her gaze as she’d been reminiscing, and abruptly, as if he’d had enough of all this, he stopped and turned.

‘I need to get back to the Inn,’ he said briefly. ‘I want to check my emails, and I’m expecting an important phone call.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Anyway, it’s gone one o’clock—you’re probably ready for some lunch, aren’t you?’

To her surprise, Helena wasn’t feeling at all hungry, despite having had no breakfast. But another of Adam’s delicious sandwiches suddenly seemed attractive.

‘OK,’ she said casually as they walked towards the car. ‘And, actually, perhaps I ought to phone my boss. He hasn’t been in the office for a few days, but I know he’s back this weekend. Perhaps there’s something he needs to tell me before Monday morning.’

As they drove back to the Horseshoe, something made Oscar decide to try his luck. He’d been thinking about it for the last hour or more, but he knew he’d have to pick his words carefully.

‘Look, if it would be any help to you, Helena… I’d be more than happy for us to get a true valuation of Mulberry Court, the contents, everything,’ he said carefully, ‘and, allowing for inflation, to pay you a very generous half of the total, now. It would relieve you of all responsibility, and you’ve said you don’t want anything for yourself… other than those figurines.’ He turned to glance at her as she sat beside him impassively. ‘It would save you a great deal of trouble…’

There was complete silence from Helena, and he went on, ‘Of course, the sale can’t proceed for a year, as we both know, but if you agree, at least one of us will be spared considerable interruption to our life. John Mayhew would sort out the transaction for us, I’m sure,’ he added.

He drew into the car park and looked across at Helena, noting her flushed features.

‘You’ve forgotten what I said, Oscar,’ she said, staring straight ahead. ‘I’ve already told you—I want to be able to play my part in making sure that we deal sensitively with all the material possessions which Isobel held dear.’

Now she did look at him, her eyes almost crackling with distaste. She knew what his game was—he wanted her out of the way! For his own convenience, not hers. She was an unnecessary encumbrance! Although he may have cared for her once, he didn’t care about her now and he didn’t care about Isobel’s lovely things, either, which he’d make sure went to the highest bidder.

She opened her door, then looked back at him squarely.

‘I am grateful for your concern at the “interruption” to my busy life,’ she said, ‘but… thanks, but no thanks, Oscar. Mulberry Court and I have a very long way to go before we’re through.’ And with that she got out of the car and walked swiftly towards the entrance to the Inn.

* * *

Back in his room, Oscar took his laptop from the wardrobe and threw it down on the bed, admitting to feeling unusually distracted. Exploring Mulberry Court this morning had ruffled his memories more than he’d expected and he’d felt his aunt’s presence in every corner. He knew he had always felt closer to her than to his own parents, and her wise gaze as she’d looked down at him from that portrait had unnerved him slightly.

He shrugged. Anyway, he’d probably blown any chance of Helena agreeing to his perhaps unrealistic proposal. It had obviously been the wrong moment to have mentioned it, he thought. If ever there was to be a right one. He remembered enough about her to know that she had a mind of her own, and would not easily be persuaded into making decisions she might later regret.

But what to do with the house and its contents was a totally insignificant matter compared with the far more vital one to be handled, he thought. Because he had the distinct feeling that he’d been awakened from a hundred-year sleep and by the most desirable woman he’d ever known. Or was ever likely to know. But had he woken up in time?

CHAPTER THREE

TRYING to subdue her somewhat ruffled feelings, Helena went into her bathroom to wash her hands and put a brush through her hair.

The morning had been a rather emotional experience, she thought. At certain points it had seemed to her as if she and Oscar were trespassing, which was obviously silly because Mulberry Court was legally theirs. But Isobel’s presence had seemed to follow them as they’d wandered through her home, and it seemed wrong to Helena that she hadn’t been there as well.

But what was really getting to her now was Oscar’s proposal that she should wash her hands of their present situation and leave him to it. Even if it would obviously mean that straight away a very considerable amount of money would come her way. She sighed briefly. He wouldn’t have the sensitivity to understand her feelings—the look on his face had said everything. But she felt, acutely, that Isobel had left this assignment to the pair of them, to be handled with dignity, obviously thinking that two heads were better than one.

Helena frowned as she dwelt on all this. Perhaps she was being mean, not giving Oscar the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps he really did have her interests at heart. Then she shook her head, responding to that thought. No, this was all about him, wanting to go it alone without the handicap of someone else possibly having an opinion that didn’t match his. He was, after all, a cutthroat businessman—he had to be, surely, as the head of the Theotokis dynasty? Sentiment didn’t come into it because everyone knew that there was no room for sentiment in business.

With her head beginning to throb with all these teeming thoughts, Helena decided that for the moment she’d had enough. Taking her mobile from her bag, she dialled his number.

‘Oscar, I’ve developed rather a bad headache,’ she said calmly. ‘So I’m going to have a lie down. Perhaps we can continue our… discussions… later. At supper?’

There was barely a pause as he responded snappily—she’d obviously interrupted something. ‘Fine. I’ll book a table downstairs for eight.’ And, after a moment, ‘If you think you’ll have recovered by then.’

Helena could imagine him raising his eyes impatiently at what she’d just said. Then she sighed. She didn’t usually have negative thoughts about people, about anyone, but somehow, she and Oscar… It had to be the disparity in their positions which had ignited the latent inferiority complex which she occasionally had to battle with, she thought. Well, thanks to Isobel, for the moment she was now exactly on a par with him. There was no need for her to feel that he had any advantage over her at all, and she must keep reminding herself of that. For one year, they were to be partners.

‘Oh, I’ll be fine by then,’ she reassured him. ‘I’ll see you at eight.’ And with that she rang off. Anyway, she thought, he wouldn’t be sorry to have some time to concentrate on far more important things.

As he drank his glass of whisky in the bar, Oscar had to accept that the morning hadn’t gone as he’d expected. He’d fondly imagined that he and Helena could have had a straightforward discussion about his aunt’s possessions—to make a list of what they wanted to take away with them, wanted to sell, to at least have made a beginning. He’d fully expected Helena to want some of the contents of Mulberry Court for herself, maybe a picture or two, or a small chair or some books, things that would easily fit into her car to take away. Arrangements could be made for anything else she might fancy to be delivered to her place later. But apparently she didn’t wish for anything at all except those ornaments, and she’d made it clear where her instincts lay—to leave it all in situ.

Helena was just lying on the bed reading her book and sipping the last of her coffee when her mobile rang. As she answered it, Simon Harcourt’s voice met her ears and she frowned slightly. ‘Oh—hello, Simon,’ she began, then listened for several minutes while he explained the reason for his call.

Interrupting at last, Helena said, ‘Actually, Simon, I won’t be available to come to the conference with you that weekend because… I’m afraid I shall actually be giving you my notice on Monday,’ and before he could say anything, she went on quickly, ‘I’ve learned that I’ve just inherited a property in the country, and it’s not a straightforward matter, so I need to leave London almost at once.’ She swallowed, hard. Well, she’d burned her boats as far as Simon was concerned. Where she stood with Oscar was another matter!

Helena slipped into her simple knee-length three-quarter-sleeve aubergine dress—which she’d decided at the last moment to bring with her—and glanced at herself in the mirror. The garment was still a favourite item in her wardrobe, and whenever she wore it she always made a point of sweeping her hair up on top, which she felt suited the low boat-shaped neckline. Her only make-up was her light foundation and a slick of eyeshadow. Her long pearl-quartz earrings completed the picture.

As the ancient clock on the landing chimed eight, she made her way downstairs. Oscar was standing at the bar, talking to Adam, and both men looked up as she approached, Oscar with a heightening of his pulse, which he tried to ignore.

As Helena approached, she smiled quickly, noting Oscar’s undeniably sexy appearance. He was dressed in light trousers and designer jacket and open-neck shirt; his hair had been newly washed, the dark, determined jaw obviously clean-shaven. A perfect model for any advertisement, she thought instinctively.

Immediately, Adam came from behind the bar, two large menus in his hands, and beckoned the two to follow him, leading them over to a table in the far corner of the restaurant.

Holding Helena’s chair out for her, he said, ‘Tonight’s special dish is seared sea bass—caught this morning,’ he added proudly. Then he took the just-opened bottle of wine from the ice bucket on the table and filled their glasses. ‘I’ll be back for your order as soon as you’ve decided,’ he said.

‘He seems to run a very tight ship here,’ Oscar commented, glancing at the man’s retreating figure. ‘By the way, I hope you approve of this… of my choice,’ he said, picking up his glass.

How could Helena not approve? It was vintage champagne. She put the glass to her lips and sipped at the frothy bubbles, looking across at him steadily. ‘Is this by way of a celebration?’ she asked enigmatically.

Oscar raised a brow. ‘If you like,’ he said casually. Well, they had just been left a fortune. ‘I hope you don’t have a problem with champagne?’

Helena smiled briefly. ‘I’ve only had it twice before—at weddings,’ she said. ‘And while I’m no connoisseur, I always found it a very… special… drink.’ She paused. ‘Thank you,’ she added.

A muscle pounded in Oscar’s jaw as he gazed across at her. She looked so unutterably lovely he couldn’t keep his eyes off her. Her hair was shining, its thick bands glinting like gold in the flickering candlelight, but she did look pale, and he said briefly, ‘Are you feeling OK now… has your headache really gone?’

‘Absolutely,’ Helena said lightly. ‘And, as a matter of fact, I’m feeling quite hungry,’ she added. She picked up her menu, hoping he didn’t notice it trembling slightly between her fingers. In a thousand lifetimes could she ever have imagined she’d be so close to Oscar again? To breathe the same air that he was breathing? To watch that firm mouth with the immaculate teeth, white against his suntan? He wasn’t merely good-looking, not merely handsome; he had that stunning, sultry, Mediterranean charisma that turned every gullible female heart to jelly.

As they gave Adam their order and waited for their meal to arrive, Oscar said, ‘I’ve had time to think things over this afternoon and I can’t help wondering if it’s the right thing to be leaving the house unoccupied for so long.’ He drank from his glass. ‘There’s a big problem with squatters taking over empty premises—certainly in London at the moment—and I understand that once they’re in, it’s difficult to get rid of them.’ He frowned thoughtfully. ‘Of course, I know that Benjamin and Louise will always be close at hand, but that wouldn’t stop determined individuals from gaining entry on a dark night—and if that did happen it would certainly add to our problems.’ He paused. ‘Maybe we should consider a short-term let,’ he added, ‘as a safety measure.’

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