by Anne Mather
‘I don’t know.’ Jon looked to Helen for inspiration. ‘What would you like to do, sweetheart? Go out on the bike again? Or sunbathe?’
‘Well, in my opinion, as—Helen,’ Victoria obviously still found it difficult to use the other woman’s name, ‘um—as Helen wasn’t very well yesterday, perhaps she ought to stay out of the sun today,’ she murmured. She smiled at the young woman seated opposite her. ‘Actually, I don’t think our climate agrees with her.’
You hope! thought Helen cynically, realising nothing had changed. For a moment she had been deceived into thinking that Victoria cared about her. But it wasn’t true. She was just using her to score points over Jon.
‘Actually, I love the climate,’ she retorted, before Jon could think of a suitably caustic response. ‘And I’d like to go out on the bike. We could go into Hamilton, if you like, Jon. Didn’t you tell me there was a glass-bottomed boat we could take a trip on?’
Jon’s brow lifted. ‘I thought you didn’t like boats?’ he queried. ‘At least, that was my impression yesterday afternoon.’ He gave her a teasing grin. ‘Didn’t you say something about being seasick?’
‘That was different—’ Helen was beginning hastily, when Victoria intervened again.
‘I think your father said something to upset her,’ she declared, proving she was not beaten yet, and Helen thought she could guess what the other woman was thinking. But Victoria’s suspicion that she might have made a pass at Reed and been repulsed couldn’t have been further from the truth, and it was infuriating when, for once, Jon chose to believe what his aunt was saying.
‘Is that true?’ he demanded, pushing the remainder of his breakfast aside, and staring at her. ‘Did Dad say something to upset you? God, not another attempt to blacken my character!’
‘Of course not.’ Helen cast Victoria a frustrated look. ‘It was nothing like that. I told you. I wasn’t very well—’
‘Are you sure?”
‘Yes, I’m sure.’ Helen sighed. ‘Jon, your—your father was—charming.’ The word nearly stuck in her throat, and she thought how ironic it was that she was having to defend Reed to his son. She hesitated a moment, and then added rather recklessly, ‘Your aunt’s afraid I might have misunderstood your father’s kindness, that’s all. Apparently, some women have got the wrong idea.’
‘The wrong idea?’
Jon was looking blank, and, meeting Victoria’s smug gaze, Helen guessed she had put her foot in it once again. ‘Yes,’ she said wearily, struggling to find the right words to extricate herself. ‘Because he offered to entertain me while you were getting over your headache.’
Jon frowned. ‘You mean—he came on to you!’
He looked flabbergasted, but no more so than his aunt, though Helen couldn’t take the time to enjoy it. ‘No,’ she said heavily. ‘Aren’t you listening? Your aunt thinks I might have—embarrassed him, or something.’
Jon’s lip curled. ‘You’re not serious!’ he exclaimed, addressing Victoria now, and Helen hoped she had not said too much. ‘You can’t honestly think that Helen might be interested in Dad! Lord!’ He shook his head disparagingly. ‘He’s far too old.’
Victoria said nothing, much to Helen’s relief, and Jon rolled his eyes towards the ceiling. ‘You’re crazy, do you know that?’ he declared at last. ‘You still see every attractive woman as a potential threat. Well, though it pains me to say so, Vee, I don’t think you need to worry about Dad finding someone else any more. He’s not going to boot you out, so you can relax. He may still admire a beautiful woman.’ He stroked the back of Helen’s hand with possessive fingers. ‘But I’d say your tenure was pretty much secure.’
‘Your father has never booted me out,’ retorted Victoria, but just her indignation was affected. And Helen could only feel relief that the crucial point was passed. ‘In any case, I’m going to the gallery,’ she told them, and, getting up from the table, she tottered out of the room on her ridiculous high heels.
Helen breathed more easily after she had gone, especially as Jon chose not to continue with that particular line of discussion. However, when he took the opportunity of their being alone together to come round the table and perch on the edge of her chair, she was less enthusiastic.
‘Mmm, you smell delicious,’ he said, nuzzling her hair with insistent lips, and although Helen would have preferred to dislodge him she didn’t know how to do so without causing another argument.
Even so, there were ways to dampen his ardour, and instead of participating she deliberately buttered herself another piece of toast. ‘Well, I’m hungry,’ she declared, when Jon protested, and although her appetite had never been smaller she proceeded to eat it.
‘So am I,’ retorted Jon, rather ruefully. ‘But only for you. So, when are you going to admit it? We were meant to be together.’
Helen made no response, and the appearance of the maid precluded any more serious conversation. But Jon’s youth had never seemed more pronounced. Sooner or later, she was going to have to tell him that they didn’t have a future—not together, at least, she thought unhappily. If Reed’s reappearance in her life had done nothing else for her, it had certainly defined her feelings for his son.
Perhaps she should tell him the truth, she reflected. Oh, not the whole truth; not about Alexa; but maybe she should explain that she and his father had once—what? What could she say? If she admitted they had once been lovers-Lovers! The word stuck in her throat. They had slept together, that was all. Love hadn’t come into it. Nevertheless, if she admitted they had once known each other in that way, would Jon understand? Probably not, she decided bleakly. Indeed, he might even make all the right connections—or in her case, all the wrong ones. He knew what she was like. She didn’t—sleep around. And if he put the dates together…
In consequence, she said nothing, and, during the next few days, she was relieved of the necessity of making any decision. With Reed away, she could almost pretend that she and Jon were simply on holiday, without the spectre of the past overshadowing the present. It was cowardly, she knew, and she hated deceiving Jon, who had always been so considerate of her, but what else could she do? And, apart from the problem of evading any emotional entanglements, they were good days. They swam a lot, and played tennis on the grass court at the back of the house. They even went out on the glass-bottomed boat, and Helen glimpsed a little of the island’s history in the rusting wrecks that lay offshore.
It was the nights that were harder. Now that the images of the past had reasserted themselves, it was difficult not to play that scene with Reed over and over again in her mind. The trouble was, the more she thought about it, the more she blamed herself for what had happened. It had been easy to load all the responsibility on to Reed when the chances of her ever seeing him again had been so remote. But now, having met him again, having seen for herself that he was not the monster she had imagined, she found it infinitely more difficult to ignore her own guilt.
Reed came back on Wednesday evening, a day later than Victoria had predicted, and it was Thursday morning before Helen was obliged to see him. She thought she and Jon had passed his car as they were being chauffeured into town on Wednesday evening, but she couldn’t be sure. The fact was, as soon as she had learned that Reed was on his way home, she had persuaded Jon to take her dancing, and they had spent the evening at a disco at one of the larger hotels.
Consequently, she went down to breakfast on Thursday morning feeling a little like a prisoner going to the block. She had no idea how she was going to handle seeing him again, and it was obvious that Victoria would be watching her every move.
As it happened, however, Victoria was the only person at the breakfast table, and Helen took her seat with some relief. At least she would be sitting down when Reed put in an appearance. It was going to be a lot easier to greet him from the comparative safety of her chair.
‘Where’s Jon?’ asked Victoria, and Helen wished she could ask where Reed was with the same confidence. ‘I’d have th
ought he’d be down to see his father, as he’s been away. Particularly after going out last night.’
‘Well—I’m afraid I was mostly to blame for that,’ said Helen, helping herself to some strong black coffee. ‘I wanted to go dancing, and I didn’t think his father—would mind.’
She finished with a little rush, as the catch in her throat almost threatened to betray her, but Victoria was unaware of her discomfort. Evidently the fact that Reed was home was more important, and she merely clicked her tongue impatiently, as if to say young people could never be trusted.
‘Anyway,’ she observed, ‘Jon should have known better. I know Reed always acts as if it’s not important, but it must be galling for him to know that the only time he sees his son is when he wants something.’
Helen drew a careful breath. ‘I don’t think I—’
‘What?’ Victoria stared at her. ‘Don’t you think it’s anything to do with you, is that it? Didn’t Jon tell you it’s not his own money he’s spending? You surely didn’t think he earned enough to support himself in the lifestyle to which he’s become accustomed, did you? For goodness’ sake, Reed even paid for your air fares—and for everything else Jon’s bought since he’s been here.’
Helen swallowed. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t know that.’
‘No. Well, that’s typical of Jon. He spends every penny he earns, and then sponges off his father.’
To Helen’s relief, the appearance of the maid precluded any response she might have felt bound to make, but all the same it was disturbing to think that Reed had actually paid for her to come out here. Staying here, she felt she owed him enough already, and although the situation was out of her control she wished Jon had told her he was short of cash.
She ordered toast, when the maid asked her what she would like to eat, and it was almost an anticlimax when Reed came into the room as the maid was departing. ‘Just coffee,’ he said, in answer to her smiling enquiry, and then greeted Helen and his sister with an all-encompassing, ‘Good morning.’
Helen answered him politely, pouring herself some orange juice to fill the pregnant silence. She guessed she and Victoria were both remembering what Victoria had said, and added to this was her own uneasiness about what had happened on the yacht.
She had expected Reed to be dressed for the office, but a covert glance in his direction was all she needed to revise her opinion. His blue collared shirt had short sleeves, and his shorts were denim cut-offs. Definitely not the kind of attire he would wear to go to business, and she realised she had been too optimistic. However, a second glance informed her that he didn’t look at all well, and she wondered if his business trip had been more arduous than he had anticipated.
‘Aren’t you going in to the bank?’ exclaimed Victoria, inadvertently asking the question Helen would have liked to ask. ‘I thought there was a board meeting this morning. I thought that was why you came back last night, instead of waiting for this morning’s flight.’
‘There is, and it was,’ said Reed, somewhat tiredly, taking his seat at the end of the table. He picked up the copy of the previous day’s Financial Times that was lying by his plate, and glanced at the headlines. ‘But you’re right: I’m not going in to the bank. Not this morning, at least. Now—could I have some coffee?’
As Victoria was pouring coffee into one of the fragile, gold-rimmed cups, Helen permitted herself another look in Reed’s direction. For once, he looked his age, she thought, and it was disconcerting to discover she cared enough to be concerned.
However, it was even more disconcerting when he lifted his head and caught her gaze upon him. Until then, she had succeeded in avoiding eye contact, and her surreptitious observation of his movements had gone unnoticed. But now he had intercepted her studied appraisal, and his eyes darkened disturbingly as they bored into hers.
‘Are you all right?’
It took Helen a moment to realise Reed was talking to her, and when she did her face betrayed her sudden consternation. ‘I—I beg your pardon?’
‘I said, are you all right?’ Reed repeated evenly. ‘You got over your—er—indisposition?’
‘Oh.’ Helen swallowed. ‘Yes. Yes, I’m fine now, thank you.’ She paused, and then, realising something more was required of her, she added politely, ‘Did you have a good trip?’
Reed’s mouth drew in. ‘Passably,’ he conceded. And then, just as dutifully, ‘What have you and Jon been doing while I’ve been away? I expect you’ve seen most of the island now, haven’t you?’
‘Most,’ agreed Helen, smiling rather tensely at the maid who brought her toast. ‘The—er—the weather’s been wonderful.’
‘I thought you’d found it a little too hot for comfort,’ put in Victoria abruptly, apparently deciding she had been silent long enough. ‘After all, you’re not very brown, are you? A little red, perhaps—’
‘Her skin’s too fair to tan,’ Reed remarked, before Helen could think of a civil response, and both women were taken aback. Then, turning to his sister, he continued, ‘By the way, Styles was at the airport last night, when I landed. He was apparently on his way to New York. I didn’t know you’d arranged some Press coverage for him in the States.’
Now it was Victoria’s turn to go red. ‘I haven’t,’ she snapped, regarding her brother with accusing eyes. ‘And you know it.’ She took a deep breath. ‘How do you know where he was going, anyway? I can’t believe he volunteered the information.’
‘No. I asked him,’ replied Reed pleasantly. ‘I took a leaf out of your book, Tori. I’ve noticed you don’t hesitate to speak your mind, when you consider the situation warrants it.’
Victoria grunted. ‘So, why didn’t you mention it last night?’
‘I didn’t think of it.’ Reed shrugged. ‘Believe it or not, I do have more important things on my mind than Luther Styles.’
Victoria gave another snort that sounded like ‘humph’, but she didn’t contradict him. And Reed’s timely intervention had diverted the conversation from Helen, for which she was grateful. It gave her the opportunity to finish her breakfast in comparative anonymity, and she made sure she did nothing to draw attention to herself again.
CHAPTER TWELVE
JON CAME INTO the morning-room as Helen was leaving the table, and it was embarrassing when he tried to kiss her in front of his father. However, as Victoria was close on her heels—evidently preferring to be alone, to brood over what Reed had told her—she had an excuse to step past him. Forcing a smile, she told him she would see him later, and left him alone with his father, hoping her apparent insouciance in doing so would not prove indiscreet.
Victoria disappeared into the library and, left to her own devices, Helen went out of the house and down to the jetty. Even at this hour of the morning, the sun was hot on her back, and she was glad she had chosen to wear an outfit that afforded her shoulders some protection. Despite the fact that the jumpsuit’s legs were cut off at mid-thigh, the cotton top was conventional, with wide, elbow-length sleeves. However, remembering that Jon had bought the suit the day before in Hamilton, Helen felt less at ease. After what Victoria had told her, she couldn’t help wondering whether Reed’s money had paid for it. And Jon’s comment, that its warm, peachy colour exactly matched her skin, seemed rather hollow if that was true.
The motor launch was moored at the jetty, and she nudged it impatiently with the toe of her boot. It bobbed on the water, but the picture didn’t please her. It reminded her too vividly of her nervousness the morning Reed took her out on the yacht, and right now thinking of Reed was the last thing she wanted to do. Nevertheless, she wished she had refused his offer. He might never have remembered who she was if she hadn’t spent a whole day in his company.
Pushing thoughts like these to the back of her mind, she started off along the dock. The sun had bleached the stone, and it was a brilliant white beneath her feet. Everything was clean and bright in Bermuda, she thought moodily. Except herself, that was—and the thoughts she couldn’t stifle.
Beyond the jetty, rocks formed a natural barrier to the sea’s incessant erosion. Trees and shrubs grew close to the water’s edge, too, seemingly indifferent to the shallowness of the soil, and clumps of flowering cacti made an exotic splash of colour. In fact, there was colour everywhere she looked, she reflected ruefully, and she wished she were able to enjoy it.
Alexa would have loved it here, she knew, realising her daughter was never likely to visit Bermuda now. Not with her mother at any rate, Helen amended. What she did when she was older was not something Helen could realistically predict.
Not liking the direction her thoughts were taking, Helen pushed her hands into her pockets and hunched her shoulders. But she couldn’t deny the fact that one day Alexa was going to become curious about her father. Right now, it didn’t seem important, but how long would that last?
She had picked her way to the water’s edge, and was perched on a rock, gazing out at the Sound, when she sensed she was no longer alone. It wasn’t any sound he had made, but rather the extra-sensory perception he had spoken of that caused her to turn her head, and when she saw Reed she got quickly to her feet.
‘Um—where’s Jon?’ she asked at once, look ing beyond him expectantly, almost as if she thought Jon were hiding in the trees. But it appeared from the careless lift of his shoulders that Reed was alone, and her pulse raced in concert with the hammering of her heart.
‘I guess he’s finishing his breakfast,’ Reed declared at last, turning his palms towards her in a gesture of obeisance. ‘Does it matter? I wanted to speak to you. That’s not verboten, is it?’
‘I—no.’ Helen licked her lips. ‘No, I suppose not.’
‘Oh, your generosity overwhelms me!’ Reed’s tone was blatantly sardonic, but he didn’t look at her as he stepped across the rocks towards her. ‘Mmm, this is a pleasant spot, isn’t it?’ he added. ‘I sometimes wish I had more time to enjoy it.’