Memories Of The Past

‘Really?’ he returned drily. ‘And how many times have you visited the place during the last year, the last six months, in fact?’ His brows were raised questioningly.

Colour heightened her cheeks at the softly spoken reprimand. She had been down to the house twice in the last year, the last time being at Christmas seven months ago; if she had been here during the last six months she would have recognised the danger of Caleb Jones earlier, and perhaps have been able to put a stop to it before it got this far!

‘It’s still home, Daddy——’

‘It’s a big, rambling old house with lots of memories and the hunger for children’s laughter to fill the rooms once again,’ he cut in harshly. ‘And, as you’ve assured me on several occasions that you’ll never move from London now because it’s where your work is, that you have no intention of marrying or having children, the likelihood of your one day being able to bring my grandchildren down to visit me sometimes seems very remote!’

Helen flinched at the hard accusation in his voice. She knew her father didn’t mean to be deliberately cruel, but nevertheless his words cut into her like a barb.

‘It’s your home,’ she began firmly.

‘Cal has promised me a cottage on the estate so that I can still stay in the area,’ her father dismissed that problem.

‘Cal seems to have thought of everything, doesn’t he?’ she said tautly.

‘It’s only logical——’

‘As far as he’s concerned it’s only logical,’ Helen cut in scathingly. ‘But at the end of the day our home will have been sold and Caleb Jones will own it! It’s all very neat and tidy— in his favour.’

Her father sighed. ‘I’ve already explained that the arrangement suits me too.’

Well, it didn’t suit her! As far as she was concerned Caleb Jones had used his friendship with her father—if indeed that was really what it was—to talk him into something that would, in the long run she was sure, be completely wrong for him. Her father loved this house, and she knew he would regret leaving it almost as soon as the deed had been done.

‘We’ll see,’ she bit out tightly.

‘There’s nothing to see, Helen.’ He shook his head. ‘I’ve already made my mind up to sell the house.’

And she was here to undo it. He was being influenced by his feelings of good will towards Caleb Jones, and the other man was obviously taking advantage of that. Caleb Jones might not look like a cynically hardened businessman, but he obviously knew how to behave like one! Maybe it was that very contradiction that had made it possible for him to be so successful!

‘That will be Cal now.’ Her father beamed his pleasure as he stood up to answer the ring of the doorbell. He paused at the door. ‘I hope this is going to be a pleasant evening, Helen.’

She wished she could assure him that it would be, but they must all be aware that at best it was going to be a strain, at worst impossible. And with her father thinking so highly of Caleb Jones, and her own suspicions about the other man, it could so easily become the latter.

She could hear the murmur of the two men’s conversation out in the hallway as her father brought the other man through to the lounge, deciding she would be at less of a disadvantage if she stood up to greet their guest; she really wasn’t that tall, only five feet five inches, but the tailored clothes and neat hairstyle she wore for work gave the impression that she was much more imposing than she was. Tonight she only had the advantage of two-inch heels on her shoes, and as Caleb Jones was well over six feet tall he would still dwarf her.

She stood over by the patio doors that led out into the garden, knowing that from this position she had a clear view of Caleb Jones as he entered the room, but that the shadows in this alcove in early evening would mean it took him a few seconds to locate her.

It seemed a slightly childish move on her part, and yet as Caleb Jones stepped into the lounge ahead of her father she was glad she had taken it. The man looked devastatingly attractive in a dark lounge suit and the palest of green shirts, his dark hair brushed into some sort of order this evening, although it was still too long to be considered fashionable.

But with presence such as this man had he didn’t need to be fashionable! She could recognise that air of authority for what it was now, although she doubted that in his privileged position he very often needed to enforce it.

He came towards her unhesitatingly, not seeming to have needed to have sought her out at all, knowing where she was instinctively. ‘Miss Foster.’ He held out his hand.

‘Her name is Helen, and yours is Cal,’ her father cut in firmly.

‘Yes, please do call me Helen,’ she invited, revealing none of the disturbance she felt as her hand was taken firmly in Caleb Jones’s much larger one. His grip was firm and cool, and just long enough to be remembered. ‘May I say you’re looking slightly better now than you did this afternoon?’ she added with a softness that was designed to take some of the sting out of her words.

The man in front of her didn’t even blink at her deliberate reminder of their first meeting. ‘I feel a lot better than I did this afternoon,’ he returned evenly.

He knew of her antagonism, Helen could tell that as surely as if the words had already been spoken between them. As they surely must be some time very soon. But not in front of her father; she could already sense that this man had already decided that whatever the problem was it would be kept strictly between themselves. And that suited her just fine; she didn’t want her father upset unduly unless she could help it either.

‘And Sam?’ her father put in affectionately. ‘How is he?’

Caleb Jones’s expression softened at the mention of the baby. ‘The same little devil as usual,’ he mused. ‘He isn’t even aware of the near catastrophe he caused.’ He turned back to Helen. ‘You were right about “the great escape”, by the way. The little devil had piled his toys up in one end of his play-pen and used them to climb over the side,’ he explained.

‘He’s very bright for his age.’ Helen’s father shook his head ruefully.

And so like Caleb Jones to look at—the thought popped unbidden into Helen’s mind. And she instantly questioned it. Of course if Sam was his nephew that would explain their similarity, but there could also be a more obvious explanation. This second explanation might also explain why Caleb Jones had chosen to buy the estate in the first place and bury himself down here far away from London where his offices were. She didn’t usually have such a suspicious mind, but her ambivalent feelings towards Caleb Jones had been aroused from the first.

It would also be much easier to understand his taking on the guardianship of such a young baby if the child were his own.

She hadn’t taken too much interest in his private life when she had been making enquiries about him, except to know that he was unmarried. But that didn’t preclude his having a child, a child that he might want to protect from the public eye. Not that it was really anyone’s business but his own, and Sam was adorable…

‘Very,’ Caleb Jones agreed with her father indulgently. ‘Too bright for his own good sometimes,’ he grimaced. ‘I’m beginning to wonder which one of us is in control of the situation.’

Helen’s father chuckled. ‘Why Sam is, of course. All children are. The secret is not to let them ever realise that. I remember when Helen and——’

‘Daddy, shouldn’t you be checking on dinner?’ she cut in pointedly; the last thing she needed was her father reminiscing to this man about her childhood!

Her father gave her a knowing look, but his answer was directed towards the other man. ‘Never become a father, Cal,’ he said self-derisively, moving to the door. ‘They grow up and start treating you as if you’re the child!’

‘I think it’s a bit late for me to worry about that,’ Caleb Jones said ruefully. ‘Sam already has me taped.’

His beautiful mischievous nephew was another subject Helen would have preferred not to discuss if she could avoid it. But as her father left the room to check on their meal she knew their conversation was rather limited!

‘Would you like a drink, Mr Jones?’ she offered politely.

‘A small whisky would be fine,’ he accepted just as politely.

She moved smoothly across the room to pour the alcohol into a glass for him.

‘Are you not joining me?’ He raised dark brows enquiringly.

‘I only drink wine,’ she explained coolly. ‘And I prefer to wait until we have our meal.’

Caleb Jones lowered his long length into an armchair before taking an appreciative sip of the neat alcohol. ‘I’ve heard such a lot about you from David,’ he explained. ‘It’s good to finally meet you at last.’

Helen looked at him scathingly. ‘Is it?’

He didn’t appear in the least perturbed by her manner. ‘David obviously misses you very much,’ he nodded.

She bristled angrily at what she sensed was a softly spoken reprimand. ‘All children leave home to make a life for themselves at some time, Mr Jones,’ she snapped.

‘True,’ he acknowledged without rancour.

Helen felt extremely irritated by the way he had made her feel guilty and then dropped the subject as if it were of no real importance. And it had been too smoothly done not to have been deliberate. Those innocently wide blue eyes were definitely deceptive, and she was more sure than ever that her preconceived idea of this man as being shrewdly clever was correct.

‘How do you like——?’