Helen gazed rather blindly around the very masculine apartment, mostly decorated in black and white.
Did Stein suspect every man was after her because of her money? People often suspected others of the same vices they harboured themselves!
‘This is rather stark, isn’t it?’ She had to make some comment to hide her anger.
‘I’ve never noticed.’
‘Some people like it this way.’ Her roving glance concentrated suddenly. Plain and simple it might be, but obviously expensive!
‘Yes,’ Stein agreed absently, his glance wandering from her to the bed.
Helen wondered how he could raise her pulse rate so easily—and the impulsive side of her temper. ‘You didn’t make it clear before when I asked,’ she exclaimed. ‘Does half of this belong to the firm? That is me?’ she added tightly.
‘No, this is mine own,’ he quoted dryly.
‘But no ill-favoured thing!’ she commented in similar tones.
‘You don’t believe me?’
She backed from something she was sure was menace in his voice. ‘I didn’t say that!’
‘Don’t insult me by implying that I’m a fool as well as a thief!’ he grated, his eyes suddenly as angry as hers had been.
Helen licked dry lips, then shrank as he eyed their moist, pink perfection, his expression subtly changing.
As she heard the hard intake of his breath, panic clutched her. Her defences where Stein was concerned were growing too weak to risk another attack,especially when her worst enemy was herself!
Backing warily away from him, she murmured, ‘Shouldn’t we be leaving?’
‘Yes.’ With a tight-lipped shrug he followed her, closing the bedroom door behind him. A glint of
amusement lightened the sombre hue of his eyes as if he understood perfectly her breathless retreat. ‘I work hard, you know. I’m sure you don’t really begrudge me some reward for my labours.’
If that was all there was to it! At Oakfield, changing for dinner, Helen kept thinking of Stein’s remark. A reward was usually given, not taken. How much had he managed to get out of her father, she wondered, while she had been away? Lester had been working up to the day he had taken ill and he had always been astute. He wouldn’t have let Stein do him out of anything, she felt sure. Whatever Stein had received it would have been legal, above board, and almost impossible to reclaim.
His powers of persuasion being what they were, her father wouldn’t have stood a chance.
Helen’s pale, doubtful face reflected back from the mirror as she applied a little light make-up. It wasn’t the money, she admitted. Money had never been .of great importance to her. If she could find the right job, whether with the firm or elsewhere, she would be happy enough with the salary she earned and the satisfaction of being able to do a good day’s work. No, what she couldn’t face was the thought of Stein being a thief.
That he was intelligent enough to stay within the law was no consolation. Somehow she couldn’t bear to contemplate her meeting with Harold Dent.
Despairingly she wished she had stayed in France or that she could simply disappear.
The next morning Helen spent in her room, sorting out her new clothes and hanging them away in her wardrobes. She got one of the maids to dispose of the boxes and wrappings. While her cowardly desire to flee hadn’t lasted long she did use her room this morning as a kind of refuge. She had no idea where Stein was. He hadn’t been in to breakfast and she had guessed he was out riding as he hadn’t said anything about going to the office. Suddenly she had wanted to avoid him and retreated upstairs. During dinner, last night, she had felt his mocking glance dwelling on her frequently. They hadn’t talked much, but she had sensed in him a cold, cruel triumph which she couldn’t explain but which had made her regret her softer feelings towards him. It was obvious he was relishing the situation and not at all dismayed by it-something which strengthened rather than weakened Helen’s suspicions.
He wasn’t in for lunch either, and she felt resentful that she had to ask where he was. She asked Hilary, the elder of the two maids, but she didn’t know. Neither did Olive, the other one. They only knew that he had gone somewhere with Paul in the Rolls.
Helen’s annoyance over this was such that when she was served a lunch she considered little less than disgraceful, it gave her the courage to send for Mrs Swinden.
‘A slice of tinned meat and a single lettuce leaf is scarcely suitable for a cold day!’ she said stiffly when the woman eventually appeared.
Mrs Swinden didn’t appreciate being reprimanded.
‘Since Mr. Maddison isn’t here, miss,’ she replied coldly, ‘I didn’t think you’d want anything special.’
‘But I give the orders now, not Mr. Maddison,’ Helen retorted firmly. ‘In future you must consult me.’
‘That’s not what I’ve been told,’ Mrs Swinden began to argue.
‘Well, you know now,’ Helen didn’t allow her to go any farther, ‘and you have adequate assistance.
Would you kindly see to it that I get some hot soup and perhaps an omelette?’
She didn’t really want either. If Mrs Swinden had apologised she would have forgiven her, but she found the woman’s attitude infuriating. She didn’t enjoy giving orders. In France she had learnt to obey them, and if she had been able to do that without receiving wages, surely it wasn’t beyond the capacity of someone receiving adequate remuneration? Stein had obviously let Mrs Swinden have too much of her own way!
She waited half an hour before a plate of lukewarm soup and a miserable-looking omelette appeared. It was too much! She stormed into the kitchen.
‘I’m afraid you’ll have to go, Mrs Swinden. Mr. Maddison may like to provide you with a reference, but I certainly shan’t!’
Mrs Swinden was sitting at the big scrubbed table having coffee with one of the outdoor staff. In front of him was a plate of delicious-looking home-made biscuits. As the man murmured a hurried greeting to
Helen and disappeared, Mrs Swinden drew herself up with an injured air, protesting’ angrily, ‘I do my best, Miss Davis, and I’ve had no complaints until now. I’m sure Mr. Maddison is quite satisfied.’
‘Well, I’m not!’ Helen snapped. ‘You can take a week’s notice.’
She couldn’t remain in the house after this. Running upstairs, she flung on her new mink jacket. It went extremely well with her light slacks and sweater.
Brushing back her long, fair hair, she didn’t pause to consider the charming picture she made but rushed outside. Wishing she had remembered to ask what had happened to the smart little car she used to drive, she made her way on foot towards the village. Her father had bought it for her a few weeks before she had left; it must be around somewhere.
She was still feeling angry over Mrs Swinden. How could her father have come to employ such a woman in the first place? She wasn’t just over-confident, she was insolent! Good housekeepers might not be easy to find, but they did exist. Helen felt she would rather manage on her own than put up any longer with Mrs Swinden.
Stein couldn’t possibly object because, regardless of what Mrs Swinden thought, he had nothing to do with it.
She reached the village and bought a bar of chocolate to satisfy the pangs of hunger aroused by her walk.
There was frost on the ground and the air was clear and bright. With the resilience of youth she began feeling a little better. She met several people she knew. They stopped to speak to her, offering sympathy because of her father. Some of them were curious about Stein, she could tell, but she managed to parry their rather devious queries without seeming rude. She accepted a couple of invitations and it was almost dusk before she began wandering home again.
She didn’t hurry as she wasn’t keen to see Mrs Swinden again. She wouldn’t feel comfortable until the woman was gone. Remembering the household she had lived in France, Helen sighed. While Madame Sibour and her family had suffered a great loss the fundamental atmosphere in the old house had been a happy one. T
here she had cooked and cleaned and looked after three children, and while she had sometimes been very tired she had never felt miserable.
It needed children to turn a house into a home, she thought, wondering if there would ever be any at Oakfield.
She was almost there when a car pulled up and Stein’s arm drew her in beside him.
‘Where have you been?’ she exclaimed, too cross to protest at such highhandedness.
‘Where have you?’ he asked tersely, his eyes slipping too closely over her, she considered.
‘Just to the village for some chocolate,’ she replied sharply, trying to prevent her pulse moving out of control. He had drawn her into the car so quickly she had lost her balance and fallen against him. For a moment, before she righted herself, her nostrils had been filled with his masculine scent and the vibrations of his heart still seemed to be pounding right through her. It wasn’t real, it couldn’t be, she told herself. He was as warmly dressed as she was. No pulsebeat could penetrate winter clothing. If she were sensible she would believe it and dismiss such illusions as sheer fantasy.
Her hand trembled as she flicked back her wayward hair. Stein was wearing a formal suit. Had he been lunching with Barbara? ‘Where have you been?’ she repeated.
‘Town,’ he said briefly, his eyes on her shaking hand.
She hid it quickly. ‘What doing?’
His mouth thinned. ‘I’d rather you didn’t walk such a distance on your own.’
So he wasn’t going to enlighten her, but then he seldom did about anything! ‘I need the exercise,’ she retorted.
‘It was something more than that, I think?’ His eyes narrowed on her face.
‘Yes,’ Helen admitted reluctantly. He had to know some time and she saw no sense in denying it, but she didn’t want to discuss it now; Paul might overhear. ‘I’ll tell you later.’
‘Is it something I can look forward to?’ Stein asked grimly, as Paul drew up outside the house.
‘Perhaps not,’ she confessed grudgingly. ‘It’s about Mrs Swinden.’
‘Ah!’ he paused enigmatically after following her from the car. ‘I might have known.’
She glanced at him sullenly. ‘You don’t sound very sympathetic.’
He waved Paul off in the direction of the garages.
‘I’m afraid I haven’t time to listen to your domestic problems at the moment. I have to see someone.’
‘Someone coming here?’
‘Not to the house,’ he replied, with an impatient glance at the darkening sky.
As he strode away Helen noticed how the wind ruffled his dark hair, emphasising the strong lines of his head. She remembered how Barbara had looked at him and felt a flicker of jealousy, then was furious with herself.
Too restless to go inside immediately, she wandered around the back of the house, where she bumped into Paul.
‘Do you live here?’ she asked in surprise.
‘I have a room with one of the gardeners,’ he said.
‘I thought you would prefer London?’
‘I do,’ he grinned, ‘but I have to be around when the boss wants me.’ His smile lingered lazily. ‘He’s a busy man and can’t be kept waiting, you know.’
‘He’s seeing someone,’ Helen muttered, the comment dropping idly from her lips as she concentrated on what Paul had been saying.
‘Yes,’ Paul unwittingly explained the reason for Stein’s hurry. ‘Cullan, the gardener I’m with, was telling me there’s some trees to come down. One fell across the main road last week and nearly. caused a nasty accident.’
Why hadn’t Stein told her about it? Helen wondered angrily as she went to find him. She ought to have been consulted. They were, after all, her trees!
When she tracked him down he was talking to a man with a truck at the bottom of the ten-acre field. She knew the trees; they were old and she didn’t doubt becoming a danger. If Stein had mentioned them she might have let him deal with the situation. What she didn’t appreciate was his arrogant determination to ignore her. He wasn’t going to find it easy handing over the reins!
Seeing her coming, he muttered something to the contractor and walked towards her . ‘Did you want me for something?’ he asked.
Her colour deepened at his distinctly discouraging tone. Did everyone think they could speak to her as they liked? ‘Why didn’t you tell me where you were going?’ she retorted.
‘Because I knew you would want to come,’ he sighed, ‘and I didn’t think you were up to it.’
‘And I suggest it was because you didn’t want me to know what you were doing!’ she countered recklessly.
His stony face tightened. ‘You aren’t going to make a fuss over a few trees, surely?’
She stared at him coldly, then glanced past him. ‘Isn’t that Charlie Parkinson?’ she asked.
‘Right first time,’ Stein jeered. ‘Can you fault him? There’s not much he doesn’t know about timber.’
‘How much is he paying?’
‘He’s felling them in return for the wood. We’ve more than we can use up ourselves. There’s only about half a dozen, and they’re very rotten. They should have been down long ago.’
‘Don’t dare criticise my father!’ she cried.
‘Helen!’ he snapped, as the contractor gazed towards them curiously. ‘I’ve stood about enough! Are you going in, or do I have to carry you?’
Helen simmered gently all the way through dinner.
The whole meal was beautifully cooked and presented, which didn’t improve her temper. Mrs Swinden had certainly surpassed herself this evening, in order, obviously, to try and keep her job and make Helen look a fool if she dared complain to Stein.
Stein, not aware of the fiasco in the kitchen, appeared to connect Helen’s mutinous face with their argument over the trees, and retired to the study with his coffee.
Helen gave him time to drink it before she followed.
She didn’t bother to knock. Unless it was a bedroom she refused to knock on any more doors in her own home!
He glanced up from a pile of what she took to be forms and lists and sheets of paper. They were on the desk and he was seated behind it. His glance as he saw Helen was impatient. With a sigh he pushed the papers aside and-folded his arms.
‘Now what is it?’ he asked, his grey eyes expressionless, his face far from encouraging.
‘I want to speak to you,’ she said coldly, refraining from accusing him of disappearing when he must have known this. ‘I told you!’
His dark brows tilted. ‘I realise you’re still annoyed over the trees, but there doesn’t seem anything more to discuss.’
‘We never got started,’ Helen retorted indignantly, recalling the abrupt way he had overridden her protests and dismissed her. ‘There’s still more I’d like you to explain about those, but there’s something else which is more important.’
Stein frowned, then nodded towards a chair, which she took to be an invitation to sit down. When she shook her head he rose and came round the desk to stand beside her, his eyes narrowing on the thick, shining beauty of her hair.
‘I’m listening,’ he prompted softly.
Something in his attitude flicked her temper again.
She almost said she hoped it wasn’t too much trouble!
Calming herself with a deep breath, she wished he had stayed behind the desk.
‘It’s Mrs Swinden. I’ve given her a week’s notice, and I’d rather you didn’t interfere. If she approaches you I want you to back me up.’
There was a brief silence while he stared at her blankly. ‘What brought this on, might I ask?’
‘I don’t mind telling you about it,’ angrily she lifted her chin, her eyes flashing like blue jewels in her small flushed face. ‘I’m afraid I’ve never cared for her general attitude.’
‘Never?’ he interrupted dryly.
‘All right!’ she snapped. ‘I know I’ve only been home a week, but it doesn’t take as long as that to recognise insolence.’
‘I’ve always found her quite pleasant.’
‘She would be to you, you’re a man!’
Stein’s eyes glinted. ‘She might be able to teach you a thing or two, if you weren’t so prejudiced.’
Helen refused to let him get under her skin. ‘I’ve tried to make allowances. I mean, I realise she hasn’t been used to having a mistress.’
His mouth quirked grimly. ‘So?’
‘She served me a terrible lunch and when I asked for something hot, she gave me cold soup and an omelette I wouldn’t have given my worst enemy!’
‘So?’
Chains of Regret Page 7
