Memories Of The Past

‘Could we dispense with the polite conversation when my father isn’t around, Mr Jones?’ she cut in caustically. ‘We both know the reason I’m here, and polite chit-chat isn’t going to gloss over that.’

He arched dark brows. ‘I thought you were here to visit your father.’

‘And I have already had this conversation with him earlier,’ she snapped. ‘With much more effect, believe me,’ she added scornfully.

He gave an inclination of his head. ‘I’m glad to hear it.’

She drew in a controlling breath at the censure in his voice. He least of all had the right to stand in judgement of her behaviour. ‘At least my affection for my father is genuine,’ she challenged softly.

He didn’t move, not so much as a muscle, and yet Helen could feel the anger emanating from him. ‘Implying?’ he prompted tautly.

‘Implying that——’

‘Dinner is served,’ her father announced lightly as he came back into the room, his eyes narrowing shrewdly as he sensed the antagonism flowing between his daughter and his friend. ‘Let’s go and eat before it all spoils,’ he added distractedly.

He was upset by the tension between herself and the man he considered a close personal friend, Helen could tell that, and yet she couldn’t do or say anything to put his mind at rest. She didn’t trust Caleb Jones, and there was no use pretending, not even for one evening, that she did.

It couldn’t be of any comfort to her father now, but he was actually the one who had always told her to be honest in her dealings with people, polite but honest. And that was exactly what she intended being with Caleb Jones.

‘You don’t cook, Helen?’ a lightly mocking voice enquired as they all went through to the dining-room.

Her father chuckled his enjoyment, eyeing her teasingly.

‘Yes, I cook, Caleb.’ She knew the complete formality of ‘Mr Jones’ was out now that her father was back with them, but she stubbornly refused to call this man ‘Cal’. ‘But when I’m home my father insists on feeding me up; he doesn’t think I look after myself properly in London,’ she added drily.

‘And do you?’ the other man challenged softly.

Her mouth firmed. ‘As well as any person living alone,’ she bit out.

Caleb Jones nodded. ‘I’ve lived alone in London myself—it’s far from being an ideal situation.’

Helen couldn’t help wondering just how often he had actually ‘lived alone’.

But she couldn’t help sensing yet another underlying criticism. ‘It may have escaped your notice, Caleb,’ she snapped, ‘But there aren’t too many vacancies for accountants in a rural area like this one!’

Once again he appeared unruffled by her vehemence. ‘Strange you should mention that…’ he murmured thoughtfully.

Helen didn’t see anything in the least strange about it. This was a country area, with one or two small towns nearby, but none of them possessed the sort of company she wanted to be associated with. Up until now her father had always accepted that the move to London was necessary for the advancement of her career. She would not appreciate it if this man had been putting other ideas into his mind!

Her eyes flashed her anger. ‘I don’t see anything strange about it——’

‘Oh, I didn’t mean strangely odd,’ Caleb Jones cut in smoothly. ‘I meant what a strange coincidence; I’m looking for an accountant at the moment—in fact I’m going to start seeing people concerning that this week.’

Helen stared at him. ‘You want an accountant working down here with you?’

He nodded. ‘I spend most of my time here now, and rather than move all my staff and offices down here—which wouldn’t please them, I’m sure—I thought a personal-assistant-cum-accountant liaising between here and London would be the perfect answer to the problem,’ he explained lightly.

Helen had become more and more tense as he spoke, turning slowly now to look at her father, sure from his innocent expression—and his friendship with Caleb Jones—that he had known of the vacancy long before now.

And that too-innocent expression gave her a deep feeling of unease.

Surely her father hadn’t expected her to be interested in applying for the job!

CHAPTER THREE (#u1958f9e5-b924-5663-8e11-d5932dcfddae)

‘YOU can’t have been serious, Daddy,’ Helen complained incredulously.

Dinner was long over, Caleb Jones had taken his leave a short time ago, and the two of them were enjoying a cup of coffee before going to bed.

Helen had lost her equilibrium somewhat after she had realised her father had seriously contemplated the idea of her working for Caleb Jones.

At the time she had passed the moment off with a flippant comment about liking her job in London, but she had known from her father’s expression that he intended to pursue the subject once they were alone. Helen had decided that attack was the better form of defence!

Her father didn’t appear in the least perturbed. ‘It’s an ideal step up the ladder for someone in your position,’ he reasoned lightly.

‘It’s a leap,’ she acknowledged self-derisively.

‘Well, then——’

‘Too much of a leap, Daddy,’ she derided.

‘I’m sure Cal would——’

‘I certainly don’t want any favouritism from him, thank you,’ she snapped.

Her father looked annoyed by her outburst. ‘I wasn’t talking about favouritism, damn it——’

‘Then what else would you call it?’ she challenged, her cheeks red.

He drew in a controlling breath. ‘Cal would merely consider your application as fairly as any others he receives.’

‘I don’t want to be “considered”——’

‘I wish you would forget your prejudice of the man, and think what a really good opportunity it would be for you to work for him——’

‘I don’t want to work for him!’ she cut in exasperatedly. ‘I find the man totally obnoxious, and on top of that I question his ethics.’

‘Helen!’

She had gone too far with her last remark as far as her father was concerned, she could see that, and yet it wasn’t just Caleb Jones’s underhand dealings over Cherry Trees that bothered her about the man; she still didn’t know enough about him professionally to trust him completely in that area either.

‘The City is suspiciously quiet about him,’ she insisted. ‘I would need to know a lot more about him than I do now before I would even consider working for him.’

‘Don’t let one bad experience sour you, Helen,’ her father advised softly.

Colour warmed her cheeks at this gentle reminder of her youthful folly.

She had been extremely vulnerable when she’d first moved to London, had kept herself very much to herself during those first few years, so that by the time she’d taken up her position as a junior accountant in one of the larger firms she had been ripe for the attentions of a more senior accountant with the company.