Mills & Boon is proud to present a fabulous collection of fantastic novels by bestselling, much loved author

ANNE MATHER

Anne has a stellar record of achievement within the publishing industry, having written over one hundred and sixty books, with worldwide sales of more than forty-eight MILLION copies in multiple languages.

This amazing collection of classic stories offers a chance for readers to recapture the pleasure Anne’s powerful, passionate writing has given.

We are sure you will love them all!

I’ve always wanted to write—which is not to say I’ve always wanted to be a professional writer. On the contrary, for years I only wrote for my own pleasure and it wasn’t until my husband suggested sending one of my stories to a publisher that we put several publishers’ names into a hat and pulled one out. The rest, as they say, is history. And now, one hundred and sixty-two books later, I’m literally—excuse the pun—staggered by what’s happened.

I had written all through my infant and junior years and on into my teens, the stories changing from children’s adventures to torrid gypsy passions. My mother used to gather these manuscripts up from time to time, when my bedroom became too untidy, and dispose of them! In those days, I used not to finish any of the stories and Caroline, my first published novel, was the first I’d ever completed. I was newly married then and my daughter was just a baby, and it was quite a job juggling my household chores and scribbling away in exercise books every chance I got. Not very professional, as you can imagine, but that’s the way it was.

These days, I have a bit more time to devote to my work, but that first love of writing has never changed. I can’t imagine not having a current book on the typewriter—yes, it’s my husband who transcribes everything on to the computer. He’s my partner in both life and work and I depend on his good sense more than I care to admit.

We have two grown-up children, a son and a daughter, and two almost grown-up grandchildren, Abi and Ben. My e-mail address is mystic-am@msn.com and I’d be happy to hear from any of my wonderful readers.

Sleeping with a Stranger
Anne Mather

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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CONTENTS

Cover

About the Author

Title Page

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

H ELEN was standing at the rail when the ferry docked in Santoros. Milos could see her clearly, despite the roiling tension in his gut. And he had to admit, she was still one of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen.

Or slept with, he appended, trying to make light of the fact that he was meeting her again. Although it was over fourteen years since he’d had anything to do with her, there was no denying his jumping nerves or the seething emotions just the sight of her inspired.

Theos , what was wrong with him? She’d been a wife, a mother, and a widow since that mindless interlude in London. He should be long over her—and he was, he assured himself fiercely.

Was it his imagination, or did Helen look a little harassed after her journey? Two plane flights and a ferry ride at the end of it could do that to you, he guessed. But he had no firsthand experience. He’d been spoilt by private planes and helicopters and fast, turbo-driven yachts.

Still, she was here now and Sam—her father—would be delighted. He’d talked of little else since she’d accepted his invitation. Milos had been sure Sam would want to meet her himself, but he’d asked Milos to do it. He’d assumed their previous association would give Milos a lever he didn’t have.

If he only knew!

But Sam was naturally anxious about the visit. It was almost sixteen years since he’d last seen his daughter. And then under less than favourable circumstances. According to him, his first wife had ensured that their daughter only heard one side of the story. A story that entailed a disillusioned Sam getting involved with and subsequently marrying a darkly attractive Greek woman he’d met on a business trip to Athens.

When Milos had met Helen some twenty months later she’d been no less hostile towards her father then than when she’d first discovered he’d been unfaithful to her mother. She’d blamed him. She’d been young and idealistic and impossibly naïve.

But so vulnerable, Milos reflected with unwilling honesty. And he’d taken advantage of that vulnerability. Not for her father’s sake, but for his own ends. Endaxi , it hadn’t been all his fault, he defended himself impatiently. She’d been more than willing to satisfy his demands.

The guilt had come later, of course. When he’d gone back to Greece. He’d told no one what had happened during his trip. Not his own family; not Maya, Sam’s second wife; and most particularly not Sam, who had trusted him. But the worst feeling of all was that somehow he’d betrayed himself.

He scowled now, watching as the ferry’s captain eased his vessel up to the quay. The trouble was, his own marriage—the marriage his father had arranged against his will—had been breaking up at that time and he’d been looking for a diversion. Helen had certainly provided that, he thought bitterly. And then she’d run out on him proving what an immature creature she was.

Naturally, he’d never expected to be in the position he was in now. Helen’s alienation from her father and Maya had foolishly persuaded him that there would be no reconciliation in this lifetime. How wrong he’d been. He’d been stunned when Sam had announced that Helen and her daughter were coming to the island for a holiday. But, Helen’s own husband had been killed almost a year ago, Sam had explained, and the letter he’d written expressing his condolences had apparently gone a long way to mending the rift between them.

A more cynical man might wonder if Sam’s amazing change of fortune had had anything to do with his daughter’s change of heart. Despite the fact that his background as a wine importer in England had had little to do with the actual cultivation of the grapes, meeting Maya and subsequently taking over her family’s failing vineyard had made him a wealthy man. During the past ten years, Ambeli Kouros , as the vineyard was known, had gone from strength to strength and Sam Campbell had become a much respected man on the island.

A girl appeared as the ferry was docking, pushing her way through the crowd of passengers to join Helen at the rail. Not her daughter, he assured himself, despite their apparent familiarity. In a black tee shirt with some logo sprawled across the front and baggy black jeans that pooled around her ankles, she was the type of visitor Milos thought the island could well do without. Black lipstick, hair sprayed a lurid shade of green, a semi-circle of piercings etching her ears, she was as different from Helen as it was possible to be.

Skata , he thought, waiting for her to be claimed by the group of backpack-toting teenagers that were hustling to disembark. This was one of those occasions when he wished his family owned the whole island and not just a large part of it.

A wooden gangplank was run out from the quay and as the passengers moved towards it Milos saw the girl speak to Helen. He couldn’t make out what she said, of course, but it appeared it wasn’t something Helen wanted to hear. There was a brief heated exchange and then they both joined the rapidly decreasing exodus.

Milos blew out a breath. No, he told himself shortly. He was prepared to accept that travelling could promote the most unlikely friendships and that creature could not be Helen’s daughter.

Whatever, they were coming down the gangplank now and his eyes were irresistibly drawn to Helen’s flushed face. Was she hot? he wondered. Certainly, the skirt and jacket she was wearing were unsuitable attire for this climate. But was that the only reason she looked so distrait?

She’d cut her hair, he noticed, with a pang he quickly suppressed. But she was still as slim and lovely as ever. Would she recognise him? It had been over fourteen years, after all. Was he flattering himself in thinking she might remember him as well as he remembered her?

And then their eyes met and held, and the breath he’d hardly been aware he was holding got caught somewhere in the back of his throat. Theos , she remembered him all right. Why else would there be such a mixture of fear and loathing in her eyes?

‘Who’s that?’

Without her being aware of it, Melissa had noticed her distraction, and Helen managed to drag her eyes away from Milos’s and say with admirable restraint, ‘Who’s who?’

‘That man,’ said Melissa flatly, hauling her backpack higher on her shoulder. ‘Come on, Mum. He’s staring at us. He’s not your dad, is he?’

Helen gave a nervous little laugh. ‘Hardly,’ she said, acknowledging that only she could know the irony of that statement. ‘His name’s Milos Stephanides. Your grandfather must have sent him to meet us.’

‘Yeah?’ Melissa arched dark brows that were so exactly like her father’s that Helen felt a momentary pang. ‘So how do you know him?’

‘Oh…’ This was not a conversation Helen wanted to be having right now. ‘I met him—years ago. Your grandfather asked him to look us up when he was on a visit to England.’ She moistened her dry lips. ‘That—that was before you were born, of course.’

‘And he still remembers you?’ Melissa reflected consideringly. ‘What happened? Don’t tell me my stiff-assed mother actually had a thing for a sexy Greek labourer!’

‘No!’ Helen was horrified, glancing about her to make sure no one else had heard her daughter’s coarse words. ‘And as far as I know, he’s not a labourer. He just works for your grandfather, that’s all.’

‘Well, what else is there to do on a farm?’ asked Melissa impatiently, and Helen sighed.

‘It’s not a farm.’

‘Yeah, right.’ Melissa gave her a sardonic look. ‘You’re not going to tell me.’ She snorted. ‘I should have had more sense than to ask.’

Helen had no time to answer that. They’d reached the stone quay and Milos was coming towards them. He was wearing a loose-fitting shirt, open halfway down his chest, she noticed, and black chinos that hugged his narrow hips and only hinted at the power of his long legs. He looked good, she thought uneasily. Dear God, it was devastating how good he looked. Cool and dark—was his hair a little longer than she remembered? But so horribly familiar, his lean handsome face the one that had haunted her dreams for all these years.

She badly wanted to turn tail and get back on the ferry. She’d known all along it was a risk coming here, but how had she been supposed to know that his would be the first face she’d see? But with Melissa breathing down her neck and her pull-along suitcase nudging at her heels, there was no alternative but to go on. She had to go through with this, she told herself. If only to prove to this smug, unsmiling stranger that she’d got over him and made herself a life.

It didn’t help that in spite of her high heels—heels she’d worn in a futile attempt to boost her morale—she still had to tilt her head to look up at him. It reminded her too painfully of the past and for a moment she thought she wasn’t going to be able to do this. But then sanity returned, and with admirable control she said, ‘Hello, Milos. How kind of you to come and meet us. Did my father send you?’

The dig was unmistakable, but he was unperturbed by it. ‘No one sent me,’ he said, revealing the faint trace of accent she remembered so well. ‘I am not an item of mail.’

Helen’s lips tightened. No, you’re not, she wanted to say grimly. You’re far more dangerous. But all she actually said was, ‘You know what I mean.’ Her eyes flicked to his and swiftly away again. ‘Is my father with you?’

‘No.’ Milos negated that hope with a cool arrogance. ‘Did you have a good journey?’

‘You have got to be kidding!’

It was Melissa who answered him and Helen saw Milos’s eyes move beyond the girl without even acknowledging she’d spoken. ‘Your daughter?’ he said thinly. ‘I thought she was coming with you.’

‘I’m her daughter,’ announced Melissa shortly, clearly resenting his attitude. ‘Who’re you? My grandfather’s chauffeur?’

Milos’s expression didn’t change, but Helen was aware of the sudden withdrawal that stiffened his lean, muscular frame. ‘No, yours,’ he responded, without turning a hair. ‘Is this all the luggage you have?’

Helen resented it, but she felt uncomfortable now. It was bad enough having to deal with a man she had once made a fool of herself over without having to feel ashamed of her daughter’s attitude.

So, ‘Yes,’ she said, giving Melissa a killing look. ‘Is—is it far to Aghios Petros?’

‘Not very,’ Milos replied, taking possession of her suitcase. ‘Follow me.’

‘Shouldn’t you say ilthateh sto Santoros ?’ asked Melissa, undaunted by her mother’s embarrassment. ‘That’s welcome to Santoros,’ she added, for Helen’s benefit. ‘Good, eh?’

Milos glanced at her, but if she’d expected an angry reaction, she was disappointed. ‘I am pleased you’re keen to learn my language,’ he said smoothly. ‘ Then to ixera .’

‘Yeah.’ But Melissa was nonplussed now, and, shoving the phrase book she’d pulled out of her backpack into the pocket of her jeans, she adopted her usual belligerence when faced with opposition of any kind. ‘Well, I’m not really interested in learning Greek,’ she said rudely. She glanced about her. ‘Come on. Can we get moving? I need to pee.’

Helen clenched her teeth. Melissa was impossible and she saw that Milos had noticed how pushing the phrase book into her pocket had exposed a generous wedge of olive skin between her waistband and her cropped tee shirt. It had also exposed the navel ring that they’d had a row about just the night before and she dreaded to think what kind of a mother he must believe her to be.

The quay had virtually emptied while they were talking and only the porters unloading supplies from the hold of the vessel were still working in the hot sun. Helen wished she were just wearing a vest instead of the heavy blazer, but she’d had no idea it would be so hot.

As if taking pity on her, Milos spoke again. ‘Your father can’t wait to see you,’ he said. Then, with a careless gesture, ‘My car is over here.’

‘I’m looking forward to seeing him, too,’ Helen confessed, keeping pace with him with some difficulty. ‘Is he very ill?’

Milos halted then and gave her a stunned look. ‘He’s—as well as can be expected,’ he said, after a moment. ‘For his age, that is.’ He paused and then added stiffly, ‘I was sorry to hear about your husband’s accident.’

‘Yes.’ But Helen didn’t want to talk about Richard. Particularly not to him. She strove for something else to say and found the perfect response. ‘How is your wife these days?’

Milos’s jaw hardened. ‘We are divorced,’ he said tersely, obviously resenting her question just as much as she’d resented his. ‘Your—husband must have been very young when he died.’

‘He was—’

‘’Course, he was stoned at the time,’ put in Melissa, apparently growing tired of being ignored. Then, before either of the adults could respond, ‘Wow, are these your wheels? Cool!’

Helen met Milos’s eyes without really being able to stop herself. She could almost see what he was thinking. He was wondering what kind of genes had spawned such a monster, and she couldn’t blame him. She couldn’t even blame it on Richard’s premature demise. Melissa had been out of control long before then.

Making no response, Milos swung open the door of the sleek Mercedes before saying tersely to the girl, ‘Get in the back.’

There was an unmistakable edge to his voice and predictably Melissa responded to it. ‘Who are you talking to?’ she demanded, making no effort to do as he’d asked. She propped her hip against the car and ran a black-lacquered nail over the gleaming silver paintwork. ‘You can’t tell me what to do, Milos. I’m not your daughter.’

A look of savagery crossed Milos’s face at that moment and Helen guessed he was thinking that no daughter of his would ever act like this. If he only knew, she thought, unaware she had let anything of her feelings show in her face until he threw her an uncomprehending look. But, ‘Just do it!’ was all he said, daring Melissa to argue with him again, and, with a muffled swear word, Melissa straightened from her lounging position.

‘Please,’ Helen appended, dreading another scene. ‘Melissa, please!’

‘Oh—all right.’

Melissa sniffed, but finally she gave in. Forcing the front seat forward, she flung her backpack onto the soft Moroccan leather and climbed in after it. But she made no attempt to keep her scuffed trainers from scraping across the back of the seats in front and Helen’s teeth were on edge by the time she’d settled down.

‘Happy now?’

Helen was far from happy, but this wasn’t the time to voice it. She was too aware of the dangers Milos represented, and of her own pitiable ability to keep the truth from him. The day had started badly, after that sleepless night on the ferry, and it had suddenly got a whole lot worse.

She got into the car when Milos indicated that she should, but she noticed that he was far from relaxed when he flung open his door and got in beside her. What was he thinking? she fretted. Had he seen anything in Melissa’s face, in her words, to give him pause? Oh, God, what was she going to do if he had?

Her skirt had ridden up her thighs as she got into the vehicle and she concentrated on pulling it down as Milos thrust the car into drive and depressed the accelerator. But she couldn’t help being aware of him beside her, of his lean strength coiled behind the wheel, of his long fingers on the controls. Long fingers that had once…

‘I’m gonna have a car like this when I’m older,’ declared Melissa from the back seat, and Helen wondered if she’d sensed the tension between them.

‘You’ll have to do some work first,’ she said, anything to distract herself. ‘Cars like this cost money.’

‘I could always find myself a rich husband,’ remarked her daughter irrepressibly. ‘Even one who’s more than twice my age.’

Helen sucked in a breath. But she refused to let herself be drawn by Melissa’s unsubtle reference to her employer. ‘Do—er—do you live at Aghios Petros, too?’ she asked, addressing Milos, and, although she sensed his reluctance, he was forced to look her way.

‘I live—not too far from there,’ he replied at last. ‘But I don’t spend all the year on Santoros. I also have a home in Athens.’

‘You do?’ Helen was surprised. If he did work for her father, he was evidently paid very well.

‘My family isn’t involved in winemaking,’ he told her flatly, successfully shattering her preconceived ideas about him. ‘My father owns—ships.’

‘Ships?’ It was Melissa who broke in again. ‘What? Like that leaky old crate that brought us from Crete?’

‘Melissa!’

Helen cast another impatient look at her daughter, but Milos had apparently had enough of her insolence. ‘No,’ he said harshly. ‘Not ferry boats, thespinis .’ He emphasised the word. ‘Tankers. Oil-tankers. Regrettably, I am one of those rich old men you spoke of so scornfully a few minutes ago.’

CHAPTER TWO

T HE villa stood on a rise above terraced slopes burgeoning with green vines. A long drive wound between cypress and olive trees, with the flowering blooms of tamarisk bushes edging the road. It was a fairly large dwelling with hanging eaves, overgrown with flowering vines and bougainvillea.

‘Is this it?’

Melissa was leaning forward now, her elbow digging into the back of her mother’s neck, and Milos wondered what the hell Sam would make of his granddaughter. She was obviously going to be nothing like he’d expected.

‘Mum!’

Helen had said nothing and Melissa prompted her to speak. ‘I think this must be your grandfather’s house,’ she said, glancing sideways at Milos. ‘Those are vineyards, aren’t they?’

‘ Ineh —they are,’ he agreed. ‘This is the Ambeli Kouras .’

‘ Ambeli Kouros?’ Once again, Melissa had to have her say. ‘What the hell is that?’

‘Melissa!’

Helen tried to restrain her, but Milos decided she was wasting her time. ‘It means the Kouros vineyard,’ he told her patiently. ‘Kouros was your grandfather’s wife’s family name. When he took over, he retained it.’

Melissa was reflective for a moment. ‘My grandfather’s wife,’ she said at last. ‘That would be that evil bitch Maya , right?’

‘For goodness’ sake, Melissa—’

Helen was obviously horrified, but Milos recognised Helen’s mother’s voice in that description. ‘That’s right,’ he said. ‘So be warned. Maya doesn’t take any prisoners.’

Melissa huffed, but she sat back on her seat, clearly disappointed she hadn’t aroused a more explosive reaction. Helen felt obliged to intervene. ‘I’m afraid Maya’s name isn’t particularly welcome in my family,’ she said. ‘I have to admit, my mother didn’t want me to come.’

So, what’s new? thought Milos drily. Sheila Campbell hadn’t liked him either. ‘I expect she doesn’t trust Sam,’ he ventured mildly. ‘Either that, or she thinks it’s too soon for you to be thinking of starting over.’

‘You mean, since Richard died?’ Helen queried, her lips folding together in a thin line. ‘No. She—er—she’s of the opinion that I should get married again.’ And he could make what he liked of that! she seemed to add silently.

‘Yeah, she wants Mum to marry a wrinkly,’ put in Melissa, before Milos could make any comment. Which was just as well. Helen’s statement had thrown him for six. ‘Mark Greenaway. He must be sixty if he’s a day. Like I’d want him for a daddy !’

Helen caught her breath. ‘Mark is not a wrinkly,’ she protested hotly. ‘And he’s nowhere near sixty.’ She cast Milos an awkward glance. ‘He’s my boss. He owns an engineering company and I’m his personal assistant.’

‘Really?’ Milos managed to sound only marginally interested. ‘Does he have family, too?’

‘If you mean, is he married, then no,’ said Helen stiffly. ‘He’s a widower, without any children of his own.’

‘Oh, bliss!’ muttered Melissa contemptuously. ‘The man’s a wimp and you know it. If it wasn’t for the fact that Dad never did any work, you’d never have considered taking a job with him.’

‘That’s not true!’

Helen was embarrassed, and Milos wondered how she could let her daughter get away with saying what she did. It was as if Helen was scared of what Melissa might do next, and, judging by the girl’s attitude, she might have a point.

Suddenly aware that he was staring at her, Milos dragged his eyes away. Was it only nervousness that was stopping her from making any attempt to get out of the car, or was there something else she wanted to say?

His stomach tightened, but before he could identify the reason Melissa broke the uneasy silence that had fallen. ‘Well, duh—are we getting out or what?’ she asked, and Milos steeled his expression and swung open his door.

By the time he’d circled the car, Helen had got out, too, her long legs, in the ridiculously high heels, attracting his unwilling gaze. ‘ Iseh kala?’ he probed. ‘Are you okay?’

There’d been a reluctant concern in his voice and she responded to it. Though not in the way he’d anticipated. ‘Do you care?’ she exclaimed, exposing her real feelings for the first time. ‘Do you care about anyone but yourself? Forget it, Milos. It’s too late to pretend you have a conscience now.’

Milos’s jaw dropped, but the angry retort that sprang to his lips was stifled by the sight of Melissa clambering over the seats to the front of the car.

‘Do you mind?’ she demanded as he stared at her now instead of her mother. ‘I want to get out. You’re in the way.’

Milos was too stunned by the way she was trashing his vehicle to do anything but reach for Helen’s hand with the intention of drawing her aside so that the girl could open the door.

But he’d acted without thinking, and before his fingertips could register the silky feel of her skin or the palpitating pulse at her wrist Helen had yanked her arm away, rubbing her hand as if he’d contaminated her.

‘Don’t—don’t touch me!’ she said accusingly, and for once he was grateful to Melissa’s overloud, ‘Thanks a bunch!’ for drowning out her mother’s choked words.

They’d been given rooms at the back of the villa. Pale tiled floors, high ceilings, and lots of dark wood furniture, contrasting their coolness with the shimmering heat outside. A balcony with white painted chairs and a table invited inspection, and beyond the hillside fell away to the coastal plain.

What a view, thought Helen, cupping the back of her neck with hands that were still damp from the emotions she’d felt earlier when she’d met her father’s second wife. Dealing with Milos had been hard enough, but Maya had proved another matter entirely.

It was obvious she didn’t want them here. She’d made that perfectly plain, despite her almost sickening treatment of Milos. He was evidently persona grata at the villa. They were not, and she’d wasted no time in letting them know it.

But what had really shocked Helen was the news that her father was working. Working! When she’d imagined him wheelchair-ridden or worse. That was the impression he’d given her in his letters. That he desperately wanted to see her again before he—

Before he, what? He’d stopped short at saying he was actually dying, she remembered. He’d just let her believe he was seriously ill; that he didn’t know how long he had left.

‘What do you think?’ Melissa had come to lean in the doorway of her room that adjoined Helen’s suite. For once, there was a look of uncertainty on her young face. ‘Are we gonna stay or do we just spit in his eye and catch the next ferry out of here?’

‘Melissa!’ Helen spoke automatically, but her heart wasn’t really in it. The girl was only voicing things she’d thought of herself. Was staying here really an option? Being brought here under false pretences didn’t augur well for her future relationship with her father.

‘Well, you’re not exactly enthusiastic about it, are you?’ Melissa countered. She nodded towards her mother’s suitcase. ‘You haven’t even started to unpack.’

‘And you have?’

Helen swung about to face her and Melissa pulled a face. ‘Hey, a few tees and a spare pair of jeans don’t need much unpacking. I unzip my pack, haul out my stuff, and shove it in a drawer. That’s it.’

Helen’s mouth compressed. ‘You haven’t just brought jeans and tee shirts!’

‘Haven’t I?’

Helen gave up. ‘Have it your own way,’ she said, too weary to even remember how optimistic she’d been about taking this trip. It wasn’t just for her father, she acknowledged. It was for her and Melissa, too. Anything to get her daughter away from the unfavourable influences that were making life so difficult at home.

She walked towards a chest of drawers where one of the maids had left a tray of coffee and some fresh lemonade. ‘D’you want a drink?’

‘I guess.’ Melissa regarded her wearily now, pushing herself away from the door and slouching across the room. ‘What’s up?’

‘You have to ask?’ Helen shook her head. ‘Well, let’s see, my daughter—my delightful daughter—has done her best to humiliate me; I discover the father I haven’t seen for sixteen years has been lying to me; and his wife has made it clear she doesn’t want us here. Need I go on?’

Melissa shrugged. ‘Do I look like I care?’

‘Oh, right.’ Helen took off her jacket and pulled the hem of her cream silk top out of the waistband of her skirt and used it to fan her midriff. ‘So, you’d stay?’

‘Sure. Why not?’

‘I’ve just told you that we’re not wanted here.’

‘So?’

‘So—unlike you, I don’t like confrontation.’

‘Get over it, Mum.’ Melissa helped herself to a glass of lemonade before continuing, ‘In any case, I thought you were pretty hard on Milos. If it wasn’t for him, we’d prob’ly still be standing outside in the blazing sun. Maya was in no hurry to invite us in, was she?’

‘I don’t need Milos Stephanides’s help,’ said Helen tensely, and then struggled to control herself. But the last thing she needed right now was to get into a discussion with Melissa about Milos. She was too nervous, too on edge. She might easily say something she’d regret.

Cradling the cup of coffee she’d poured herself between her palms, she moved back to the windows. Meeting him again had proved far harder than she’d ever imagined. She should have got over him by now, but she was no longer so sure she had.

And how pathetic was that?

‘D’you think he and Maya are, like, doing it?’ asked Melissa suddenly, her reflection appearing in the glass of the window beside her mother’s, and Helen turned to give her a horrified look.

‘Doing what?’ she exclaimed, but she was very much afraid she knew what the child meant. Maya had been fulsomely glad to see him.

‘Hey, do I need to draw you a picture?’ Melissa grimaced. ‘You know what I mean.’

‘No.’ Helen wouldn’t make it easy for her. ‘No, I don’t.’

‘Well, duh—I don’t mean her and your old man, do I?’

Helen stared at her. ‘You’re suggesting that Milos—that Milos and Maya might be—’

‘Getting it on?’ finished Melissa helpfully, when her mother faltered. ‘Yeah. Why not? Didn’t you see the way she was all over him? Like a rash! And he’s not married. He said so.’

‘She is.’

‘And your point is?’

Helen was emphatic. ‘No.’

‘Hello? Don’t tell me you think your queen of a stepmother wouldn’t do such a thing.’ Melissa shook her head. ‘Get real, Helen. It wouldn’t be the first time she broke up a relationship.’

Her mother was aghast, but all she could say was, ‘Don’t call me Helen.’

‘What do I call you, then? Dumb?’ Melissa groaned. ‘Mum, this guy’s a babe magnet. Just ’cos Maya’s already got a husband doesn’t mean she can’t have a bit on the side as well.’

‘Melissa!’ Helen nearly choked on her coffee. ‘You ap-pal me, you really do.’

The girl shrugged. ‘Well, don’t say I didn’t warn you.’

Helen gasped. ‘She was pleased to see him, that’s all.’

‘Wasn’t she just?’ Melissa snorted. ‘Whatever. The guy’s hot. Even you must have noticed. Or have you forgotten what it’s like to—?’

‘That will do.’ Helen couldn’t listen to any more. She took a steadying breath and changed the subject. ‘Is your room nice?’

‘Nice?’ Melissa finished the lemonade in her glass and returned it to the tray. ‘You’re determined not to treat me like an adult, aren’t you?’

‘Because you’re not an adult, Melissa. You’re thirteen, not twenty-three.’

‘I’ll be fourteen soon. Why can’t you remember that?’

‘Oh, I remember exactly how old you are,’ said Helen with feeling. Did she ever? Then in a spirit of compromise, ‘So you think we should stay?’

‘Do kids have a vote?’

‘Of course, you do.’ Helen sighed. ‘I thought you might want to meet your grandfather.’

Melissa pulled a face. ‘Like I need another old man in my life!’

‘So what are you saying?’

‘Well, we’re here, aren’t we? And this place isn’t bad. And our staying will definitely get up Maya’s nose.’

Helen couldn’t prevent the smile that tugged at her lips. ‘You’re impossible!’

‘But you love me anyway,’ said Melissa, dodging her mother’s playful nudge. Then as the sound of a car accelerating up the villa reached their ears she arched a mocking brow. ‘Hey, is that who I think it is?’

Helen’s stomach contracted. She had no doubt that the car belonged to her father. Someone, Maya probably, had informed him of their arrival, and he’d evidently dropped whatever it was he’d been doing to return to the house.

Immediately, the prospect of unpacking, of doing as Melissa had suggested and staying here, lost its appeal. Dear God, what was she going to say to him? How many more lies was he planning to tell her? What excuse could he possibly make for hinting that he only had a short time to live?

Melissa, who had dashed out onto the balcony to try and see the new arrival, returned with a disappointed face. ‘You can’t see the drive from here,’ she said. ‘Do you think it’s him?’

‘If you mean, do I think it’s your grandfather, then, yes, I think so,’ said Helen tersely. And, as if just noticing her daughter’s appearance, she added, ‘Don’t you have anything more suitable to wear? Shorts, for example?’

‘Yeah, right. Like I’m going to dress like a dork!’ Melissa was disgusted. ‘And don’t take your bad temper out on me. It’s not my fault.’

Helen’s anger subsided as quickly as it had appeared. ‘I just wish you didn’t always wear black!’

‘It’s a fashion statement,’ said Melissa airily, making for the door. ‘Anyway, I’m going to see what’s going on downstairs. I don’t want that evil bitch queering the pitch.’

‘Stay where you are.’ Helen moved quickly to intercept her. ‘You are not leaving this room on your own.’ She took a deep breath. ‘And watch your language where your grandfather’s wife is concerned. Stop trying to be a poor imitation of your grandmother.’

Melissa’s cheeks turned a little pink. ‘I don’t know why you’re defending her,’ she muttered. ‘She ruined your life, didn’t she?’

‘Maybe.’ Helen wasn’t prepared to argue the point. Then, giving in, ‘Oh, give me a minute to use the bathroom and we’ll both go and get it over with.’

Melissa frowned. ‘You’re really not looking forward to this, are you?’

‘No, I’m really not.’

‘Because your old man snowed you?’

‘Because he lied to me, yes.’ Helen hadn’t the energy to go any further. She picked up her handbag and rummaged for her comb. ‘Do I look all right?’

Melissa gave her a grudging once-over. ‘Not bad for an older woman,’ she conceded. ‘Milos thinks you’re cool, anyway.’

Helen flushed. ‘Oh, right,’ she said, even though the girl’s words had given her a cheap forbidden thrill. ‘Let’s go before I lose my nerve.’

CHAPTER THREE

B EFORE Helen could reach for the door handle, however, someone knocked from outside, and her stomach took a nosedive.

‘Who is it?’ she called faintly, but Melissa simply took the initiative and opened the door.

The man who stood outside was instantly recognisable. Tall and lean, with gaunt features and thick grey-streaked sandy hair, her father looked almost as apprehensive as she did. ‘Helen,’ he said thickly, making no attempt to step into the room. ‘Dammit, I should have gone to meet you myself, instead of getting Milos to do it. I’ve waited so long for this moment. Can you forgive me for being scared I’d f—mess it up?’

Helen couldn’t move. Now that he was here, actually standing in front of her, all the years between them seemed like so much wasted space.

‘Well, say something,’ he exclaimed raggedly, and she realised he’d mistaken her silence for withdrawal.

As if growing impatient with both of them, Melissa stepped forward. ‘Hi,’ she said, regarding him with critical dark eyes. ‘I’m Melissa Shaw; your granddaughter.’ She paused, glancing at Helen. ‘Don’t mind Mum. She’s having a hard time remembering who you are.’

‘That’s not true,’ began Helen quickly, desperate not to antagonise him before they’d had a chance to get to know one another again.

But Sam Campbell didn’t let her finish. ‘I wouldn’t blame her if she was,’ he said gruffly. ‘Goodness knows, I’m not proud of the way I’ve let things drift.’ He took a breath. ‘It’s so good to see you again—to see both of you. I’ve been a fool to let Sheila call the shots all these years.’

Helen hesitated. ‘It’s not all your fault,’ she said, ignoring the rolling-eyed look Melissa gave her. ‘I was too stubborn, I guess. I wasn’t prepared to listen to you.’

‘And now you are?’

Helen made a helpless gesture. ‘I’m—older,’ she said obliquely. And then, because she couldn’t ignore the reasons that had brought her here, ‘When you said you were ill…’

Hectic colour flooded his cheeks. ‘That wasn’t true—’

‘I know that now.’

‘Milos told you?’

‘No. Maya.’ Helen saw the way his mouth tightened at the news. ‘I don’t think she wants us here.’

Sam shook his head, his impatience evident now. ‘It’s not her call,’ he said. ‘This is my house, not hers.’ He pushed nervous hands deep into the pockets of his cotton trousers. ‘I have to ask: does my deception make a difference?’

Helen lifted slim shoulders. ‘It does, of course. But I don’t know how I feel.’ She saw Melissa watching her and went on carefully, ‘Perhaps we ought to take one day at a time.’

‘Would you have come if I hadn’t pretended to be ill?’ he demanded fiercely and Helen had to admit that the answer was probably no. And, as if he was able to read her thoughts, he went on, ‘So now you know why I did it.’

‘I suppose so.’

He took a deep breath then, glancing up and down the hall outside. ‘Look,’ he said. ‘I’m sure you’re tired. You’d like a rest.’ He frowned. ‘Have you had anything to eat?’

‘We had some coffee.’

‘But nothing to eat?’ Her father nodded and glanced at his watch. ‘Okay. It’s nearly half past ten. Why don’t I have Sofia bring you some rolls and some fresh coffee? Then you can relax until lunchtime.’

‘That sounds good to me.’ Helen glanced at Melissa. ‘What do you think?’

‘Well, I don’t want to rest,’ said Melissa with her usual perversity. She looked at her grandfather. ‘Can’t I go with you?’

‘Melissa!’

Helen was about to object when Sam Campbell said, ‘Why not?’ A smile warmed his rather austere features. ‘If your mother doesn’t mind.’

Helen could think of no reason why Melissa shouldn’t go with him. ‘Um—no,’ she murmured. And then another thought occurred to her. ‘Is Milos still here?’

Melissa rolled her eyes again at this, but thankfully her grandfather didn’t see her. ‘No, he’s gone,’ he said, suddenly more cheerful. ‘Okay, Melissa, I’ll give you the guided tour, eh? And introduce you to Alex.’

‘Alex?’

Both Helen and her daughter spoke in unison and once again a momentary hesitation crossed his face. ‘Alex. Alex Campbell,’ he said with some reluctance. ‘Maya’s son.’

Melissa came back before lunch, full of herself and of the things she’d seen.

‘This is some place, Mum,’ she exclaimed, flinging herself onto Helen’s bed with a complete disregard for the silk coverlet. ‘Did you know they make wine here as well as grow the grapes?’

Helen hadn’t known that but she was quite content to let Melissa tell her all about it. Having spent the morning unpacking both her suitcase and Melissa’s backpack and taking a shower, she felt much more optimistic about the trip. If it helped to show her daughter there was more to life than skipping school and hanging about on street corners with kids whose main pastimes were smoking pot and shoplifting, she’d be more than happy.

A vain hope, perhaps, but at least it was a beginning and Melissa seemed to have enjoyed herself.

‘He took me down to the mill,’ she said, tugging on the rings that circled her ear with a careless finger. ‘It was good. He let me taste some of the wine they’d made last year.’

‘Really?’ Helen restrained herself from saying that drinking wine at her age and at this hour of the morning wasn’t very sensible. ‘So what was it like?’

‘The wine? Okay, I guess.’ Melissa didn’t sound impressed. ‘I don’t think I’m going to be an alcoholic.’

Helen breathed a little easier. ‘That’s a relief.’

‘Why?’ Melissa looked at her from beneath lowered lids. ‘Are you afraid I’m gonna take after Richard?’

‘No.’

‘Good.’ Melissa looked as if she wanted to say something more and then thought better of it. ‘Anyway, Sam treats me like my opinion matters. I like that.’

I bet, thought Helen, but all she said was, ‘Did he tell you to call him Sam?’

‘No.’ Now Melissa pouted a bit. ‘But I can’t call him Granddad, can I?’

Helen acknowledged that might be a stretch. ‘I guess not. So—did you meet Alex?’

‘Oh, sure.’ Melissa was annoyingly casual. ‘But to begin with, I had some breakfast. He was going to take me on a tour of the house,’ she added, ‘but Maya kept complaining we were getting in her way, so we got in the Jeep and went down to the mill.’

‘I see.’

‘That’s when I met Alex.’ Melissa’s lips quirked. ‘He’s cool.’

Cool? Helen couldn’t help herself. She was curious. ‘You liked him?’

‘What’s not to like? At least he was friendly.’

‘He speaks English?’

‘Yeah.’

‘So—how old is he?’

Melissa was deliberately obtuse. ‘Older than me.’

‘Melissa!’

‘Oh, okay.’ Melissa rumpled her hair. ‘He’s not your brother, if that’s what’s worrying you. He’s twenty-six. Maya was like you. She was only seventeen when Alex was born.’

It was a couple of days later when Milos decided to check up on Sam’s house guests.

It wasn’t anything to do with him, he knew, but something drew him back to the vineyard. It was easy to tell himself that, as he’d collected them from the ferry, he felt some responsibility for their well being. But the truth was, Helen and her unlikely daughter intrigued him. He wanted to know more about them. He wanted to know more about her .

Sam was having a late breakfast when he arrived. Milos guessed his friend had already been down to the winery to check on developments there, and now he was enjoying a lazy repast, seated at the table that had been laid in the shade of a clump of lemon trees.

‘Milos,’ he exclaimed, when the younger man emerged from the shadows of the villa. ‘This is an unexpected pleasure. Will you join me?’

‘For coffee, only,’ said Milos, shaking the other man’s hand and urging him to resume his seat. ‘I was—passing, and I thought I might enquire how your daughter and granddaughter are enjoying their holiday.’

‘Oh…’ Sam pulled a wry face. ‘Well, I think Helen is glad of the break. She’s had a pretty tough time since her husband was killed. Richard—well, Richard seems to have been a bit of a waster, if you ask me. Why else would Helen have had to give up her own home and move back in with her mother unless money was tight?’

Milos wasn’t sure he wanted to hear this. Talking about the man who had lived with Helen all those years aroused mixed emotions inside him. It wasn’t that he was jealous, he assured himself. How could you be jealous of a dead man? But the fact remained, he didn’t like the sound of Richard either. Was he the reason Melissa was so obviously out of control?

Maya emerged from the house at that moment and both men rose automatically to their feet. A swarthy, attractive woman in her early forties, she was of medium height, but rather generously proportioned. She tended to wear long flowing skirts that disguised her figure, yet the blouse she’d chosen revealed a liberal amount of cleavage. She was a distant cousin of Milos’s mother, and she never let him forget that they were related.

‘I thought I heard voices,’ she exclaimed, coming towards them and reaching up to bestow a wet kiss on Milos’s cheek. She spoke in her own language, which she much preferred to English. ‘I didn’t know you were here, Milos,’ she went on reprovingly. ‘Sam, haven’t you offered our guest some refreshment?’

‘I have, and he only wants coffee,’ replied Sam, sinking back into his own chair. ‘Perhaps you’d ask Sofia to fetch some, Maya? This pot is definitely getting cold.’

Maya’s lips tightened. ‘Just call and she’ll come, Samuel,’ she retorted impatiently. ‘She has little enough to do, goodness knows.’ She turned to Milos again. ‘It’s so good to see you.’ She tapped his arm in a playful gesture. ‘You don’t visit half often enough.’

Milos managed a polite disclaimer, but he was beginning to think he’d made a mistake in coming here. He doubted Maya would approve of his reasons for doing so. She’d made her feelings very plain the morning Helen and her daughter had arrived. And Helen herself was unlikely to be glad to see him. He remembered the tension that had been there between them on that drive up from the harbour.

‘He’s come to see Helen,’ Sam put in then, settling the matter. ‘Where is she, Maya? I haven’t seen her this morning.’

‘That’s because she doesn’t get up as early as we do,’ declared Maya crisply. She turned a smiling face to Milos again. ‘Will you stay for lunch?’

‘Oh, I don’t—’ Milos was beginning when Helen herself appeared from around the side of the villa, and Sam rose eagerly to his feet.

‘Well, here she is,’ he exclaimed, reverting at once to English. He went to meet his daughter with evident pleasure. ‘We thought you weren’t up yet.’

‘Did you?’

Helen had a smile for her father, but then her eyes moved beyond him to where Milos and Maya were standing together. Her lips tightened, as if she’d attributed that misapprehension jointly to both of them, and Milos felt his own instinctive rejection of her assumption.

Struggling to remember why he was here, he managed a polite, ‘ Kalimera ,’ separating himself from his cousin almost involuntarily. ‘How are you?’

Helen took a visible breath. ‘I’m fine, thank you,’ she said, the slim hand she used to check the upswept ponytail at the back of her head revealing a nervousness she was trying hard not to show.

But Milos noticed. Noticed, too, that in a sleeveless top and navy shorts she looked younger, less on edge. The sun had already touched her skin with a rosy glow, and, although he suspected the hectic colour in her cheeks owed more to her mood than the climate, it suited her.

‘ Kala ,’ he said now. ‘Good.’

‘Milos wondered how you were settling in.’

Once again Sam chose to move the conversation on, and Milos saw the way she responded to this news. It was hardly flattering.

‘Really?’ she said, as if she didn’t believe him, and Maya clicked her tongue.

‘Greek men are sometimes too considerate for their own good,’ she remarked pointedly, and Helen gave her stepmother a studied look.

‘Do you think so?’ she remarked casually, and Milos realised she’d already got Maya’s measure.

‘I think so?’ said Maya shortly, and although Milos had sympathised with Helen’s attitude her words caught him on the raw. Dammit, they’d been lovers. She was acting as if they were total strangers.

‘Have you been for a walk?’ asked Sam, not allowing the hostility between the two women to deter him, and Helen turned back to her father with another warm smile.

‘I was just in the garden,’ she said. ‘There are so many exotic flowers here and Melissa was showing me the fountain.’

‘Melissa’s with you?’ Sam looked back the way she’d come. ‘Where is she?’

‘Poking her nose where it is not wanted, I expect,’ murmured Maya, barely audibly, but Helen’s ears were sharp.

‘I think we’re all guilty of that at times, don’t you?’ she countered, before turning back to her father. ‘She’ll be along presently. She’s discovered a litter of kittens behind a water barrel and she’s absolutely entranced.’

‘Ugh!’ Maya shuddered. ‘Well, I hope she does not attempt to bring any of them into the villa.’

‘She won’t,’ said Sam impatiently, but he looked to his daughter for confirmation.

‘I hope not,’ she agreed, but Milos saw the way her lips twitched in sudden amusement at the thought.

Her lower lip was fuller than her upper one, and Milos knew an almost feral urge to brush his thumb across its plump contours. Relaxed, as it was now, her mouth was incredibly soft and sexy, and with amazement he found how easy it was to recall how sensuous it had felt beneath his…

Skata!

‘I think perhaps I ought to be going,’ he said abruptly, and both Sam and Maya showed their surprise.

‘But you haven’t had coffee,’ protested Sam at once, walking to the villa door and summoning the maidservant. ‘Coffee for my guests, Sofia,’ he ordered when she appeared, and Milos was obliged to accept that he couldn’t walk out now.

‘Look, I have to go back to the mill for a while,’ his host continued, ‘but Helen will look after you, won’t you, my dear?’ And, without giving her a chance to reply, ‘Come along, Maya. I have something I want to discuss with you.’

In a matter of minutes, they were alone, but Helen made no attempt to sit down. A pregnant silence, broken only by the clicking of the cicadas, enveloped them until Sofia appeared again with the requested refreshments.

She set the tray on the table and then departed again and Milos decided he had been ignored long enough.

‘Do you want coffee?’ he asked, and Helen, who had been standing some distance away from him, staring at the view, gave him a careless glance over her shoulder.

‘No, thanks.’

Milos’s jaw tightened, but he was determined not to give her any reason to walk out on him. ‘As you wish,’ he said, strolling across the paved terrace towards her. ‘It will give us more time to get to know one another again.’

Helen’s expression was not encouraging. ‘I don’t think so,’ she said. ‘Why don’t you just get in your very expensive car and go away? I won’t tell my father if you don’t.’

Milos suppressed the angry response that rose to his lips. ‘Why would I do that?’ he inquired instead. ‘Your father would like us to be friends.’

Helen snorted. ‘My father doesn’t know you as I do.’

‘I’ll give you that.’ Milos refused to be provoked. ‘I’m not in the habit of sleeping with members of my own sex.’

‘You surprise me.’ She was deliberately insolent. ‘From what I’ve read, men like you are more than willing to try every—ouch!’

She didn’t get the chance to finish what she was saying. She had just stepped beyond the point of no return and Milos’s hand shot out and gripped the soft flesh of her arm just above her elbow. He jerked her towards him with little care for her sensibilities, enjoying the brief sense of power it gave him.

‘What is it with you?’ he demanded, anger thickening his voice. ‘We both know that what happened between us all those years ago wasn’t exactly unexpected. And what was it, after all?’ he added as a disturbing drift of her flowery fragrance invaded his nostrils, briefly making him forget what he’d been going to say. ‘We had sex. Pretty good sex, as I recall, but so what? It’s what men and women do when they’re attracted to one another.’

‘Women from your background,’ she retorted, not prepared to give in even though he was sure he must be hurting her. He was hurting himself, for God’s sake, but in an entirely different way. ‘I’m not like you.’

‘Oh, but you are,’ he countered harshly. ‘Whatever that—youth you married was like, when we were together you didn’t care who I was.’

‘That was because I didn’t know who you were,’ she exclaimed. ‘And don’t—don’t speak about Richard. He—he was a decent man.’

‘That’s not what your daughter says,’ Milos taunted recklessly. ‘As far as I can gather, he definitely had faults of his own. Why did you marry him, Helen? Did you really love him? Or was it just to stop your mother from finding out what a promiscuous creature you’d turned out to be?’

‘You bastard!’

She wanted to strike him then. For a heart-stopping moment, she stared at him, and although the hostility between them was palpable there were other, less-identifiable emotions swirling in the violet depths of her eyes. She tried to jerk back, but she didn’t make it, and the raging heat of her body against his sent the blood rushing to his groin.

‘Did you really believe we could be indifferent to each other?’ he asked thickly, aware of a violent desire to kiss her, to pull the quivering curve of her thighs even closer to his aching shaft. This wasn’t meant to happen, the voice of sanity warned him, but right then he was deaf to everything but his own urgent needs.

‘Hey—what’s going on?’

The child’s voice provided the necessary draught of cool air to bring him to his senses. His hand dropped instantly to his side and he stepped back on legs that were almost as unsteady as Helen’s own.

‘Melissa,’ he said, and he was amazed to hear how controlled he sounded in the circumstances. ‘Um—your mother had something in her eye. I was just trying to get it out.’

CHAPTER FOUR

M ILOS was persuaded to stay for lunch, after all.

Helen had been hoping he would go so that she could sort out her chaotic feelings. But with Melissa adding her support to Maya’s renewed invitation, for some reason Milos had acquiesced.

Helen dared not wonder why. He was a devil, she thought, viewing her flushed face in the bathroom mirror. She’d sought refuge in her own suite of rooms, leaving Melissa and Maya to entertain their visitor, desperate to avoid another destructive altercation with him.

But she knew that sooner or later she had to go down again and behave as if nothing had happened. As it was, leaving Melissa with him had been a calculated risk. Who knew what her daughter might say if she was asked personal questions about the man she believed to be her father? After the way she’d spoken in the car, it was obvious she retained little respect for Richard.

However, what worried Helen most was her own unwelcome response to Milos. She’d never dreamt he might behave as he had, or that what had begun as a childish provocation should so quickly deteriorate into a mindless assault on her senses. She’d sensed he’d wanted to kiss her, and the awful thing was she’d wanted it, too. Wanted more, if she was honest.

Dear God, she must be crazy!

Lunch itself wasn’t quite the ordeal Helen had anticipated. Her father joined them and Melissa seemed to be easier to manage when he was there. Not that he’d persuaded her to abandon her jeans in favour of a pair of her mother’s shorts, but Helen had noticed that her daughter no longer smeared black lipstick all over her mouth whenever they left their rooms.

She was relieved, too, to find that Maya had made sure that Milos was seated between her and Sam, which negated any private conversation between her guests. Which suited Helen just fine.

Nevertheless, she was intensely conscious of Milos’s dark eyes resting on her frequently throughout the meal, and, although she wasn’t particularly hungry, she was grateful for the wineglass at her fingertips, which provided at least a fragile barrier between them.

Melissa, however, was another matter, and just when Helen was beginning to think she was out of danger the girl addressed Milos directly.

‘Did you come in your car?’ she asked eagerly. She pushed aside the plate of beef and lamb kebabs that Maya had served with rice and salad in favour of the loukouma-des , or deep-fried doughnuts dipped in a honey syrup, which were much more to her liking. ‘How fast can it go?’

‘On this island?’ Milos spoke tolerantly. ‘Not very.’ His eyes flickered to Helen’s anxious face and away again. ‘Why don’t you ask your mother if she’ll let you come for a drive with me and I’ll show you?’

‘I don’t think so.’ Helen disliked him putting her on the spot again. ‘I—we couldn’t put you out like that.’

‘It’s no problem,’ he assured her smoothly, and Helen wanted to scream in frustration when Melissa said, ‘There you are, Mum. At least someone cares if I have some fun.’

‘Oh, Melissa.’ It was her grandfather who spoke now, and Helen saw the way the girl visibly wilted beneath his wounded gaze. ‘And I thought you were happy here. Was I wrong?’

Melissa’s pale skin turned a little pink. ‘Oh—no,’ she protested, and Helen realised in amazement that she genuinely wanted to please him. ‘I mean, going out in the Jeep’s okay, but it’s not a Mercedes!’

Her grandfather pulled a wry face. ‘Well, that’s put me in my place, hasn’t it?’

‘No.’ Melissa didn’t realise he was teasing her. ‘But Milos has offered.’

‘Mr Stephanides,’ corrected Helen shortly, but her nemesis merely shook his head.

‘Milos will do,’ he said, with annoying complacency. ‘So—what do you think, Sam? Um—Helen?’

Maya gave an impatient exclamation. ‘You surely can’t seriously be considering entertaining a child, Milos,’ she exclaimed. ‘Sam?’ She turned to her husband. ‘Am I not right?’

‘I suppose it’s up to Milos,’ declared her husband mildly. ‘Helen?’

How could she object? She could hardly say she didn’t want Milos anywhere near her daughter when she couldn’t offer an explanation why. They all thought her reservations were ones of politeness, when in fact she lived in fear of Milos discovering exactly who Melissa was.

‘I—well—’

‘That’s settled, then,’ said Melissa triumphantly. She looked at Milos. ‘Can we do it today?’

‘I don’t see why not.’ Milos frowned. Then he said, ‘I wonder if you’d like to come to Vassilios. That’s my house. There’s a pool there. And horses. And you’ll probably meet my sister, Rhea. She’s staying at my parents’ villa at the moment, but she spends more time at Vassilios because of the pool. She’s actually not that much older than you are.’

‘How old is she?’ asked Melissa at once, and Helen’s heart faltered in her chest.

‘Oh—eighteen, I think,’ said Milos carelessly, apparently unaware of Helen’s tension. Then, before Melissa could comment on her own age, he added, ‘Your mother’s welcome to join us.’

Helen’s relief at this reprieve was short-lived however. ‘As a matter of fact, I’m hoping Helen will spend the afternoon with me,’ said her father warmly. ‘We haven’t spent much time together since her arrival, and I’d like to show her our operation.’

In an ideal world, Helen would have been delighted to spend some time with Sam. As it was, her agreement was more obligatory than enthusiastic and Melissa went off with Milos, clearly excited at the prospect of his undiluted attention.

‘She’ll be all right,’ her father said, after the Mercedes had driven away, and even Maya added her endorsement of that statement.

‘She doesn’t know how lucky she is,’ she said, with the usual edge to her voice. ‘Milos is a busy man. If it wasn’t for the fact that he’s my cousin, I doubt if he’d have put himself out.’

‘I think he likes Melissa,’ remarked her husband mildly, sharing a rueful smile with his daughter. ‘Why not? Despite the way she dresses, she is quite a character. And he must regret not having any children of his own.’

‘Did he and his wife not have any children?’ asked Helen, unable to resist the question, and Maya gave a scornful snort.

‘Eleni?’ she said contemptuously. ‘That woman wouldn’t risk her figure by having children.’ She shook her head. ‘Milos would never have married her if it hadn’t been for his father.’

‘It—it wasn’t a love match, then?’ ventured Helen, aware that she was chancing Maya’s suspicions by showing so much interest in Milos’s personal affairs.

But Maya didn’t seem to notice. She was enjoying herself too much. ‘A love match,’ she echoed. ‘How naïve you are, Helen. Aristotle—that’s Milos’s father—wanted a business alliance with Andreas Costas. Having his son marry Eleni Costas was just the lever he needed.’

Helen absorbed this in silence, and Sam, seeing his chance, took her arm. ‘Come along, my dear,’ he said. ‘Unless you think it will be too hot for you. I’m afraid the Jeep doesn’t have air conditioning,’ he added, pulling a wry face. ‘But I’m willing to leave all the windows open.’

They drove first to the winery and Sam introduced her to some of the people who worked there. He also showed her how he’d used a couple of caves, one of the natural features of the island, for storing the bottled vintage. It was deliciously cool walking along the aisles of racks filled with the vineyards’ product, and Helen appreciated it.

‘Right now this is a comparatively small operation,’ Sam said. ‘Most of the wineries on the islands only bottle their wines for local consumption. We do that, of course, but at present we’re involved in talks with a supermarket chain. As yet it’s not all cut and dried, but it should give us a foothold on the mainland. If it comes off, it should make a great difference to our business.’

Helen looked at him. ‘You love it, don’t you?’

‘Being my own boss?’ Sam grimaced. ‘Who wouldn’t? But the best part of it all is knowing that this is my achievement. Maya’s father was an alcoholic, you know, and when we came here the whole place was in a state of decay.’

‘So—it wasn’t a question of marrying Maya for her money?’ suggested Helen carefully, and her father turned to give her a resigned look.

‘Is that what your mother said?’

Helen shrugged. ‘Something like that.’

‘Well, it isn’t true. When we got together, Maya didn’t have a penny, and this place was ankle-deep in debt.’

Helen nodded, and, as if needing to explain himself, Sam went on, ‘I don’t know what she’s told you, but Sheila and I were having problems long before Maya came on the scene. Okay, maybe I shouldn’t have walked out on my family, but God knows, Helen, I never intended for us to be estranged.’

Helen said nothing, but there was too much emotion in her father’s voice for her to disregard his sincerity. Divorce was an ugly word, and it often generated bitterness between the partners. She wanted to believe him. She wanted him to understand how betrayed she’d felt, too. Maybe in time they would come to a complete understanding. At least coming here had been a beginning.

As they were leaving the bottling plant they ran into Alex. Helen had met Maya’s son the night before, when he’d joined the family for the evening meal, and she’d been struck by the differences between him and his mother. Whereas Maya obviously resented them coming here, making little attempt to hide the fact that she didn’t approve of the deception her husband had perpetrated by pretending he was ill, Alex was easygoing and friendly. Helen had liked him at once.

‘I see you’re being given the grand tour,’ he remarked now, exchanging a humorous look with her father. ‘Is he trying to persuade you that growing grapes is a rewarding occupation?’

‘You and I both know it can be the most frustrating occupation there is,’ retorted Sam with some feeling. He turned to his daughter. ‘Alex is grumbling because I recruited him as soon as he left college. He’s become my right-hand man in recent years. I don’t know what I’d do without him.’

‘You’d manage,’ said Alex drily, but Helen sensed there was a genuine understanding between the two men. He was the son her father had never had, she thought, wondering if that had been one of the reasons for her parents’ breakup. There was no doubt that Sheila hadn’t wanted any more children. Helen had heard her say as much many times.

They continued on, paying a brief call at the mill where the grapes were crushed, before entering Sam’s office where the commercial arm of the business was conducted. A young computer operator brought them a bottle of wine and two glasses, and Helen was quite glad to sit down for a while. The heat really was quite intense.

They talked for a while about wine-growing and the different qualities of various grapes, and then Sam said with sudden fierceness, ‘You don’t know how glad I am to see you here, Helen. Can you ever forgive me for the methods I used to achieve it?’

Helen studied the wine in her glass for a moment. Then she looked up at him with rueful eyes. ‘We’ve both been at fault,’ she said. ‘Me, for not being prepared to listen to reason. And you for giving up on me far too soon.’

‘I sent Milos to see you,’ protested her father, and Helen thought how fatalistic that had been. That one action had changed her life for ever and systematically destroyed any hopes of their reconciliation.

‘Anyway, that’s all in the past now,’ she said, not wanting to remember the frightened child she had been. Finding herself pregnant at seventeen had been terrifying enough without her mother threatening to throw her out if she refused to marry the baby’s father…

‘But I want to know about your past,’ persisted her father. ‘I want to know about this man you married: Richard Shaw. Didn’t your mother think you were too young to make such a life-changing decision?’

Helen’s lips twisted. ‘Not really.’

‘So she was all for it?’

‘She didn’t object,’ said Helen obliquely. ‘And then, when Melissa came along…’

‘Of course. Melissa.’ Her father smiled. ‘I think I understand now. You were going to have a baby and the decision was taken for you. Didn’t your mother ever tell you that that was how she and I got together?’

‘No!’

Helen was stunned. But it explained so much. Not least, the struggle her mother and father had had to make their marriage work.

‘Were you happy?’

Sam’s question was well-meant, she knew, but he deserved to know at least a little of the truth. ‘Melissa—isn’t Richard’s child,’ she said. ‘He knew that, but he wanted to marry me anyway.’

‘And why not?’ Sam was endearingly defensive, and Helen thought how different her life might have been if he’d been there to support her. ‘You’re a beautiful woman, my dear. Any man would be proud to call you his wife.’

‘Do you think so?’

Helen wasn’t so sure about that, but Sam had other things on his mind. ‘You didn’t answer my earlier question,’ he reminded her. ‘Were you happy together?’

‘To begin with,’ replied Helen honestly. ‘Well, Richard seemed happy, anyway. When Melissa was a baby, it was good. It was only as she got older and more—uncontrollable—that she went from being our child to my child almost overnight.’

Her father looked distressed. ‘Oh, my dear. If only I’d known.’ He reached out to squeeze the hand that was lying in her lap. ‘Tell me about him. What did he do for a living?’

‘Oh, this and that.’ Helen didn’t want to have to tell her father that Richard hadn’t held down a steady job in all the time she’d known him. That was why she’d had to become the breadwinner, and he’d resented her for it. ‘He was working as a courier when he died.’

‘A courier?’ Sam frowned. ‘Not exactly the most suitable job for someone who spent most of his evenings in a pub, I’d have said.’

Helen stared at him. ‘How do you—I mean…?’

Sam looked slightly shamefaced now. ‘Melissa told me,’ he admitted ruefully. ‘Oh—believe me, I wasn’t questioning her. She just came right out with it.’

‘She would,’ muttered Helen unhappily. ‘I’m sorry if she embarrassed you.’

‘She didn’t embarrass me.’ Her father shook his head. ‘But I can easily see that she’s quite a handful for you.’

‘And the rest.’ Helen took another sip of her wine. ‘Mmm, this is nice.’

‘Don’t sound so surprised.’ Sam pretended to be offended, but then he frowned again. ‘So does Melissa know that Richard wasn’t her father?’

‘Heavens, no!’ Helen was emphatic. ‘That was the one thing Richard insisted on. That no one—including my mother—ever suspected that she wasn’t his child.’

‘I see.’ Sam was thoughtful. Then, getting to his feet, he moved to stand at his office window. ‘Did he know who her real father was?’

‘No.’ Helen’s answer was clipped. Then, rather bitterly, she said, ‘I notice you don’t ask me if I know who he was.’

‘But, of course, you knew.’ Sam swung round then, staring at her with angry eyes. ‘Who suggested you didn’t?’

Helen shook her head, but her father had connected the dots. ‘He did,’ he exclaimed harshly. ‘Oh, Helen, why didn’t you write and tell me?’

A fleeting image of what might have happened if she had briefly crossed her mind. But it had never been an option. She’d believed Milos was married, and flying out to Santoros to confront a married man with his actions would have been quite beyond her. She’d been too young, too scared, and too proud to ask for anyone’s help.

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