Such Sweet Poison/Blind Passion

by Anne Mather

  ‘Will—er—will we be going back after lunch?’ she asked at last, unable to think of anything else, and Reed’s mouth compressed.

  ‘Immediately after,’ he assured her briefly, seeming to find the wine of more interest than the food. ‘Don’t worry. Despite your anxiety, you’re perfectly safe with me.’

  Helen took a deep breath. ‘I’m not anxious,’ she declared, and although the words sounded defensive, it was true. No matter how unlikely it might seem in the circumstances, she did trust him. But whether that trust was based on her knowledge of his love for his son, or from some other source, she couldn’t be absolutely certain.

  ‘No?’ Reed questioned now, regarding her with some scepticism. ‘Forgive me if I find that hard to believe.’

  Helen bent her head. ‘That’s your problem,’ she said tautly.

  ‘Yes, it is.’ Reed’s fingers drummed on the table for a moment. ‘Or rather, you are,’ he added cryptically. He paused, and then continued softly, ‘Because we have met before, haven’t we, Helen? As soon as I touched you, it all fell into place.’

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  HELEN JUMPED OUT of the launch as soon as it nudged the jetty. And, leaving Reed to see to its mooring, she walked quickly up the path to the house. He called her name once, but she pretended not to hear. She needed to get away—not just from him, but from everyone. She needed a little space to marshal her thoughts, to consider what she was going to do. But, most of all, she needed some time to cope with her emotions. She had been fighting tears for far too long, and she needed the relief of shedding them.

  But not yet, she thought resignedly, realising Jon was waiting for her on the veranda. Evidently he was feeling much better, and she reflected on the irony that it was she who had the headache now. And he wasn’t alone, she saw, running a nervous hand round the back of her neck, which was damp with sweat. A girl, probably someone of Jon’s age, Helen estimated, or younger, was seated in the rattan chair next to him, a tin of Coke dangling from her fingers, and one bare leg draped provocatively over the arm of the chair. And, as she was wearing only a silky vest and skimpy satin shorts, little was left to the imagination.

  ‘Where have you been?’ Jon exclaimed as Helen got nearer, getting up and going to meet her. With a humorous expression belying the belligerence of his words, he put his arm about her shoulders, and bent to kiss her.

  It took the utmost effort for Helen not to turn her face away from his seeking lips. As it was, his mouth only grazed hers, but happily Jon didn’t seem to notice. ‘I was beginning to think you’d left me,’ he remarked, hugging her against him as they walked towards the veranda. ‘Do you know what time it is? It’s half-past four!’

  ‘I know. I’m sorry.’ Helen thought those words were becoming an integral part of her vocabulary. ‘Your—your father took me sailing. It took longer to get back than we thought.’

  ‘No kidding?’ Jon’s response was sardonic, but his smile softened the impact of his words. ‘Well, anyway, I haven’t exactly been desolate. Susie’s been keeping me company, haven’t you, Susie?’

  The girl shared Jon’s smile, but the look she bestowed on Helen was rather less friendly. ‘Any time,’ she conceded, running scarlet-tipped fingers through her spiky blonde hair. ‘We go way back, don’t we, Jon?’

  ‘As far as it goes,’ Jon agreed easily, forced to let Helen go as they climbed the steps to where Susie was sitting. ‘Anyway, sugar, what do you think of my lady? Didn’t I tell you I had impeccable taste?’

  Helen stepped quickly aside when he would have slipped his arm around her again, cringing at the callow introduction. This was a side of Jon she had never appreciated, and it was galling to think she was noticing it now, and comparing him with his father.

  ‘Hi.’

  Susie’s greeting was less than enthusiastic, and Helen guessed she was disappointed that their tête-à-tête had been interrupted. Helen knew a moment’s impatience. She wondered how long Jon had been entertaining her, and whether the headache he had had that morning had been not as debilitating as he had made out. She couldn’t help but think that if Jon had not abandoned her to his father’s mercies, she would not now be in the position she was in. In consequence, her sympathies were definitely strained.

  ‘So what’s up with you, then?’ Jon enquired perceptively, when Helen made no attempt to be sociable. ‘Oh, I know. You’re feeling guilty for leaving me alone for so long.’

  ‘I am not feeling guilty,’ retorted Helen between her teeth, although the truth was, she was—if not for the reasons he imagined.

  ‘Well, OK.’ Jon’s teasing expression disappeared. ‘But, in case it’s of any interest to you, yes, I am feeling much better.’ He paused, and then added acidly, ‘I can see you’re just dying to know.’

  ‘Oh, I am.’

  Helen sighed, wishing she could sound more convincing. But it was difficult to speak objectively when all she could think about was how long it might take Reed to tie up the launch, and follow her up to the house.

  ‘You don’t sound it,’ declared Jon accusingly, adopting a martyred air. ‘Anyway, if it hadn’t been for Susie, I’d have spent a pretty miserable afternoon. And I was worried about you, if you must know. You could have fallen over-board—drowned—anything!’

  I wish, thought Helen cynically, and then stifled the negative thought. There was no future in feeling sorry for herself now, she knew, and if not for herself, for Alexa, she had to control her fears.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said again, trying to inject some emotion into her voice. ‘Of course I care about how you feel. But I wasn’t to know you’d make such a—such a swift recovery.’

  ‘Perhaps not.’ Jon shrugged. ‘So—where did you go?’

  ‘Where did we go?’ echoed Helen blankly, casting a nervous look over her shoulder. And then, realising they were waiting for an answer to the question, she forced herself to concentrate. ‘Oh—um—some bay, near St George’s.’

  ‘Coral Cove?’

  Helen licked her lips. ‘That could be it. I don’t know. It—er—it was very pretty.’

  ‘Yes, it is.’ Jon was looking distinctly less hostile now. ‘The land shelves away quickly from the beach, doesn’t it? And you can anchor really close to the shore.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  But Helen was in no mood to stand discuss ing its merits. She desperately wanted to get away before Reed put in an appearance, and despite her efforts she was amazed Jon couldn’t see the duplicity in her face. But then, why would he? she reflected bitterly. He trusted her. And he trusted his father.

  ‘What did you think of the yacht?’ Jon asked now, and she had to drag her attention back from the brink.

  ‘Oh—it’s beautiful,’ she exclaimed, and then, realising there was one way, however humiliating, to get out of this, she added, ‘But I’m afraid I discovered that I’m not a very good sailor. I—er—I was seasick.’

  ‘No!’

  Jon was instantly sympathetic, the last of his irritability giving way to genuine compassion, but Helen didn’t want his pity.

  ‘Yes,’ she said, effecting a rueful grimace. ‘I suppose that’s why you thought I was so unsympathetic. Quite honestly, I still don’t feel totally normal.’ Which was the truth.

  ‘Oh, baby!’ There was no way of avoiding the hug Jon gave her then, and Helen managed not to flinch from his embrace. ‘Why didn’t you say so straight away? Wait until I speak to the old man. I’ll have something to say about his seamanship!’

  ‘Oh, no—please.’ Helen felt a wave of perspiration break out on her forehead, and what little colour she had deserted her. ‘It wasn’t his fault. Honestly.’

  And it wasn’t. But she could hardly tell Jon the reasons why she had felt so nauseous on the way back. Being seasick had been her body’s way of rejecting a situation that was rapidly becoming indefensible. But how long could she hide her feelings from him?

  ‘Well, anyway, after what he’s had to say about my navigation in th
e past, I shall definitely say something,’ Jon insisted, grinning. ‘I guess he told you I turned the last boat over? Yes, I somehow thought he would.’

  Helen managed a faint smile. ‘Well, that’s your problem,’ she murmured, pressing her hand against his chest so he was forced to release her. ‘However, if you don’t mind, I’d like to go up and have a shower. I’m feeling rather hot and sticky.’

  ‘OK,’ Jon acquiesced. ‘Where is Dad, by the way? Don’t tell me you had to swim home?’

  ‘Of course not.’ Helen could legitimately look behind her now, and her heartbeats ac celerated at the sight of Reed coming up the path from the dock. ‘Um—here he is now. I—I’ll leave him to tell you all about it.’ She turned to the other girl then, obliged to make some effort to be polite. ‘Er—nice to have met you, Susie. Maybe I’ll see you again some time.’

  ‘I’m sure you will,’ promised Susie pleasantly, but the expression in her eyes belied the innocence of her words. ‘I’ll look forward to it,’ she added, but Helen hurried into the house with the distinct impression that she and Susie were not destined to be friends.

  However, Helen forgot all about Susie when she reached the sanctuary of her own apartments. Closing the door, she leant against the panels and closed her eyes, welcoming the coolness of the wood against her back. It was such a relief to be alone at last, and she expelled a weary sigh before pushing herself away from the door, and walking across the floor. The carpet was springy beneath her feet, and, tugging off her boots, she curled her toes into its soft pile. The compensations of the flesh, she thought wryly. Surround yourself with enough physical barriers, and you began to think you were spiritually unassailable. But you weren’t. Eventually, something—or someone—scaled the defences you had put up, and tore them down, leaving you weak and defenceless. As she was now, she acknowledged dully. As she had been ever since Reed made his startling statement on the yacht.

  She had been totally unprepared for it. But then, is anyone ever really prepared for the worst? she wondered. You think you are, but when it happens you soon realise you aren’t. Until then, all she had had to cope with was her own sense of grievance against Reed, which on reflection did not seem half so terrible as she had made it. But now, suddenly, she was faced with a whole new set of circumstances, and the awful expectation that sooner or later Reed might put two and two together and realise he was Alexa’s father.

  Of course, it hadn’t happened yet, and perhaps it never would. But could she take that chance? Certainly, she had not had time to think of that when Reed had first made his accusation. Her initial reaction had been dulled by what had gone before, and she was still fighting the insidious attraction his kiss had inspired. Indeed, she had been trying so hard to behave naturally that, even when he’d said what he had, she didn’t immediately com prehend what he was implying. But Reed had been determined that she should…

  ‘I said—we have met before, haven’t we?’ he repeated, as she shredded the smoked salmon on her plate. ‘Years ago. In London. At an exhibition at the Korda Gallery, if I remember correctly.’ He stared at her grimly. ‘Was that why you were so anxious to deny the fact that you had worked in an art gallery—however briefly?’

  Helen couldn’t answer him. For four days she had been living in fear of his remembering who she was, and, now he had, she was speechless.

  ‘I knew there was something familiar about you,’ he continued, watching her with dark, assessing eyes. ‘But—your hair was brighter then—redder; and you were—well, not so slim.’

  Puppy fat, Helen could have told him bitterly, as the memories came flooding back. She had been heavier in those days, her breasts fuller, her hips rounder. Which had made her look older, she admitted. Reed had obviously assumed she was well above the age of consent when he… Of course, she could also have added that having a baby and having to hold down a job as well as look after it refined the body’s resources. And she didn’t regret losing the weight. She would probably have done so anyway, as she got older. As for her hair—well, she did use a toning shampoo these days, that, over the years, had muted its brilliance.

  ‘I am right, aren’t I?’ Reed asked now, taking a gulp of his wine, revealing by his actions that he was not as calm as he would like her to believe. ‘Say something, for God’s sake!’

  Helen thought about denying it, but she quickly discarded that notion. She had the feeling that she would arouse more suspicion by refusing to admit the truth than by being at least partially honest.

  ‘All right,’ she said. ‘We did—know one another once. But, as you say, it was a long time ago.’

  ‘Ten years at least,’ agreed Reed, his brows drawing together incredulously. ‘My God! And you weren’t going to tell me, were you? What kind of a fool do you think I am?’

  Helen stared at him. What kind of a fool did she think he was? He had a nerve.

  ‘Why do you think I should have told you?’ she countered, her nails digging into her palms. ‘You didn’t remember me. You didn’t even remember my name!’

  ‘I didn’t know your name,’ Reed retorted harshly.

  ‘You did—’

  ‘No.’ Reed’s jaw hardened. ‘My memory may not be as good as it used to be, but if I’d known your name I’d have remembered it.’

  ‘But you must have.’

  ‘Why must I?’ His brow lifted. ‘If you remember, our introduction was—unconventional, to say the least.’

  And it had been. In spite of herself, Helen couldn’t deny the surge of merriment that rose inside her at his words. But it was a hysterical merriment at best, that caught in her throat and nearly choked her. Besides, this was no time to have hysterics. His explanation had made her think, and she didn’t want that. She didn’t want to consider that she might not even have told him her name. And that if she hadn’t…

  ‘I don’t suppose I thought names were important,’ he went on wearily. ‘Not then, at any rate. And afterwards, after we—well, you had gone.’

  ‘You expected me to remember yours,’ put in Helen defensively, and Reed sighed.

  ‘I suppose that’s true,’ he admitted. ‘But as I opened the exhibition at the gallery, I suppose it was easier for you.’ He paused. ‘Actually the gallery was owned by a friend of Tori’s. That was how I came to be involved.’

  ‘Oh.’ Helen was momentarily silenced. So Victoria, too, had played her part. Thank God, she hadn’t kept in touch with Bryan Korda. He knew nothing about what had happened to her afterwards.

  ‘Had you forgotten that?’ Reed asked now, and Helen shrugged. It was easier to pretend than to answer him. But if she had hoped that was the end of his questions, she was mistaken. Reed was determined to have his pound of flesh.

  ‘So why didn’t you say anything?’ he demanded. ‘I assume you were hoping that I wouldn’t remember.’

  ‘There was Jon,’ said Helen quickly, moistening her lips. ‘I—are you going to tell him now?’

  Reed’s long fingers massaged the stem of his wine glass. Then he lifted his head and looked at her again. ‘Do you expect me to?’

  ‘I don’t know. I don’t know what you’re going to do, do I?’ Helen was feeling slightly sick. ‘I suppose you think I shouldn’t have come.’

  ‘Where?’ Reed’s lips twisted. ‘With me today? Or to Bermuda?’

  ‘Why—to Bermuda, of course.’

  ‘But you didn’t know, did you?’ he pointed out drily. ‘Tori told me about the mix-up over the surname.’ He paused. ‘Would you have come if you’d known Jon’s name was Wyatt?’

  Helen couldn’t look at him. ‘I—probably.’

  ‘There are you, then.’ Reed made a sound of frustration. ‘So, life serves up these little difficulties from time to time. We just have to deal with them.’

  Helen hesitated. ‘H-how?’

  Reed sighed. ‘How do you want to deal with it?’

  ‘I’ve told you—I don’t know.’

  ‘No.’ Reed took another mouthful of wine. ‘No, you
don’t, do you? That’s why we’re having this conversation, I suppose.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  Helen spoke tensely, but she wasn’t really sorry, and he knew it. She could tell from the way he was looking at her, and in spite of herself she felt a shaft of apprehension penetrate her stomach. Dear God, what would she do if he touched her now? He could. It might amuse him to do so. And she didn’t really know if she had the will to resist him.

  ‘So,’ he said, ‘let me get this straight. The real reason you didn’t tell me who you were was because of Jon?’

  ‘Yes.’ It was an easy answer.

  ‘What if I say I don’t believe you?’

  Helen caught her breath. ‘It’s true.’

  ‘Is it?’

  ‘Yes. In any case—’

  She broke off awkwardly, thinking better of what she had been about to say, but Reed wouldn’t let her get away with that. ‘In any case—what?’ he prompted evenly. ‘Go on. I’m listening.’

  Helen heaved a sigh. ‘You—you were married.’

  ‘Were being the operative word.’ He hesitated. ‘I hope you’re not thinking what I think you’re thinking.’ He regarded her quizzically, and when she didn’t elucidate he went on, ‘I didn’t have a wife to explain my actions to, if that’s your opinion of events. Diana and I had split up months before I attended that exhibition. As I’m sure Jon’s told you, she left me for an American football player. Someone who—in her words—didn’t immediately think of a computer when she mentioned bed!’

  Helen swallowed. ‘So you say.’

  ‘So I know.’ Reed groaned. ‘Why would I lie about it? It can easily be proved.’

  ‘Well, it’s nothing to do with me.’