A Woman of Passion

by Anne Mather

  Of course. Helen managed a smile. That was where she’d seen him. He must have gone to meet Fleur from the plane while her husband waited with the Range Rover.

  ‘There you are. One white wine, as requested.’

  Andrew had returned with her drink, and his intervention enabled Chase to ease himself between her and his assistant. ‘Something wrong?’ he asked in an undertone, arms folded across the black silk at his midriff. ‘I take it you don’t like my house-guest either. Or are you simply averse to her because she’s related to me?’

  Helen pressed her lips together, aware that he had successfully isolated her on the edge of the group. ‘You admit it, then,’ she responded huskily. ‘She is related to you!’

  ‘Sure.’ He frowned. ‘But she’s not my wife, as you assumed the other day. She’s my sister-in-law, actually. She was married to my brother. But he was killed in a riding accident two months ago.’

  Helen’s jaw dropped. ‘He’s dead!’ she breathed in a staggered voice. ‘I didn’t know.’

  ‘Why should you?’ He was regarding her dispassionately. ‘It’s not as if it would make the newscasts in England. Chase was a polo-player. Not a football star.’

  ‘Chase…’ Helen said the name again, almost wonderingly, and Matthew Aitken looked at her with curious eyes.

  ‘You didn’t know him, did you?’ he asked. ‘That’s not why you were so agitated yesterday? I know we look—looked—a little alike, but he was eight years older than me.’

  ‘No,’ Helen couldn’t let him think that. Who knew what he might say to her mother if he suspected there was some connection? ‘I—I was just sorry to hear he was dead, that’s all. I expect you miss him badly. I’m sorry if I was rude.’

  ‘When?’ Matthew’s lips twitched. ‘At the airport? On the beach? Just now?’

  ‘At all,’ said Helen firmly, realising he was getting far too friendly. ‘Um—do you five on the island, Mr Aitken? Or is this just a holiday for you, too?’

  ‘Matthew,’ he said softly. ‘My name’s Matthew, but most people call me Matt. And, yes, I do live here, as it happens. I find the climate and the people suit my mood.’

  ‘Could you go and tell Maria we’re ready to eat, Helen?’

  Tricia had just noticed the younger woman was monopolising their most interesting guest, and her eyes flashed warningly in Helen’s direction. It occurred to Helen suddenly that she had only been invited to the party because Matthew Aitken had brought his assistant. Tricia hated uneven numbers, even if it did mean she’d been forced to ask the nanny to join them.

  ‘Of course,’ she said now, glad to put some distance between herself and her mother. For all she hadn’t said anything, Helen had been conscious of Fleur’s proximity, and of the fact that she looked at Matthew with hot, possessive eyes. Dear God, was she already looking for Chase’s replacement? And, if she was, did Matthew share his brother’s fascination for diminutive blondes?

  The idea was distasteful, and as she hurried into the villa Helen had to admit that it wasn’t just because Fleur was her mother. The thought of Matthew Aitken making love to his dead brother’s wife was repulsive. In fact, the thought of her mother even considering it caused a violent sense of injustice to invade her heart. If only her father had known he was well rid of her. Instead of spending the rest of his life trying to prove himself a man.

  CHAPTER SIX

  ‘YOU’RE so lucky living here,’ Tricia Sheridan remarked enviously as they sat at the dinner table later. ‘Tell me—Matt.’ She gave a coy little smile to cover her audacity, and then continued, ‘What do you do with yourself all day?’

  Matthew couldn’t make up his mind about that. But, after all, his pen-name was Mallory Aitken. It was possible she’d never seen his picture on the back of one of his books. He’d just got so accustomed to people using his writing as a lever that he’d become rather cynical.

  ‘Oh—this and that,’ he volunteered now, his eyes drifting irresistibly across the candlelit table. They’d seated Lucas beside Helen, and he seemed to be enjoying himself. And Helen didn’t look as anxious as she’d done when she first appeared.

  He wondered what Lucas was saying to her, and then chided himself for even caring. It wasn’t as if he intended to see any of them again. His initial reluctance to get involved with these people had probably been right. For all Helen had offered some kind of an apology, he still had the feeling he should quit while he was ahead.

  ‘What kind of this and that?’ Tricia persisted, and Matthew wondered if it was possible to escape these proceedings without telling the truth. The last thing he needed was spurious congratulation, but before he could make a comment Fleur intervened.

  ‘Haven’t you heard of Mallory Aitken?’ she exclaimed, and Matthew knew it was a measure of her annoyance at being ignored that had caused her to speak so caustically. Besides which, she had always denigrated his success before, declaring that his novels were little more than fantasy. But, ‘Good heavens,’ she added now, ‘I thought everyone had read at least one of Mart’s thrillers. They sell in their millions. Isn’t that right, darling?’

  Matthew managed to disguise his frustration, and gave a careless shrug of his shoulders. ‘They sell,’ he agreed mildly, realising it had been a bigger mistake than he’d thought bringing Fleur here. And, dammit, if he hadn’t been so bloody curious about the nursemaid, he’d have had the sense to see it.

  ‘Don’t be modest, darling,’ Fleur protested, her shrill laugh drawing the attention of everyone at the table. ‘I’m sure Lucas has been telling Ellen how lucky he was to land this assignment. He was just Matt’s sound technician, you know, when Matt worked for the ITC.’

  Ellen? Matthew’s mouth drew down, and glancing at the young woman in question he glimpsed a look of anguish on her face. But why? What had Fleur said to upset her? Surely getting her name wrong wasn’t a reason for such distress?

  ‘I say, how exciting!’ Andrew Sheridan joined the discussion before his wife could voice her reaction. ‘Mallory Aitken, eh?’ His eyebrows arched. ‘What did you say you’d written, old man?’

  ‘I didn’t,’ said Matthew, hearing the tightness in his voice and controlling his temper with difficulty. ‘I’m afraid my sister-in-law exaggerates. D’you mind if we change the subject?’

  ‘Oh, but you must tell me what you’re working on at the moment,’ Tricia enthused eagerly, apparently deciding that he didn’t mean her, and Matthew sighed.

  ‘I never discuss my work,’ he told her flatly, lifting his wine-glass and surveying her over the rim. ‘Tell me, Mrs Sheridan, when did you say you were leaving?’

  ‘Leaving?’

  For a moment she looked totally nonplussed, and Matthew felt an uncharacteristic surge of satisfaction at the thought. It wasn’t his nature to be deliberately malicious—except with Fleur, he qualified bleakly—but he didn’t like these people, and he didn’t care if it showed.

  ‘I thought Lucas said Tricia and Andrew had just got here.’ Once again Fleur took the initiative, and in avoiding her gaze Matthew looked straight across the table into Helen’s pale face. Her expression was guarded, he thought, though vaguely apprehensive, and he wondered what she was thinking as he forced her to meet his eyes.

  ‘Did he?’

  Matthew said the words carelessly, responding to his sister-in-law without deviating from his course. It irked him when Helen looked away, and he was in no mood to be polite.

  ‘I expect I forgot,’ he remarked now, putting his wineglass down on the table. ‘Time goes so quickly when you’re enjoying yourself.’

  It wasn’t a compliment, and no one could have mistaken it for one, but Maria’s reappearance to collect the empty plates provided a welcome diversion. What had he eaten? Matthew wondered as the plates were taken away. Asparagus, he thought, and then chicken. What was the matter with him tonight? He didn’t normally feel so aggressive—even with Fleur.

  ‘Anyway, we’re here for a month,’ Tricia declared at last, eviden
tly deciding not to take offence. ‘I suppose you know Laurie Parrish, don’t you? The man who owns this villa. He’s a colleague of my husband’s at the Foreign Office.’

  ‘I’ve met him,’ said Matthew evenly, wondering if he was supposed to be impressed. ‘But we don’t do a lot of socialising in the usual way. Lucas and I—we live a fairly hermit-like existence.’

  ‘Really?’

  Tricia exchanged a glance with her husband, and Matthew could almost feel what she was thinking about that. Well, let her, he thought wearily. He had nothing to lose. And it might keep the Sheridans off his back.

  ‘Oh, I’m sure now that I’m here we can change all that,’ Fleur put in insistently, determinedly undermining his intent. ‘You must excuse my brother-in-law, Tricia. I can tell you from experience, his bark’s much worse than his bite.’

  Matthew’s jaw compressed, but he didn’t attempt an answer. Instead, meeting his assistant’s eyes, he allowed a silent acknowledgement of Lucas’s caution. But it was no stretch of his abilities to shift his eyes to Helen, and although he scorned his motives he couldn’t help himself.

  With the meal over, the Sheridans invited their guests to take coffee seated in the lounge chairs that had been circled on the opposite side of the patio. It gave Matthew an opportunity to escape Fleur’s cloying presence, and, not risking another altercation, he removed himself from danger by sitting on the steps of the veranda. He knew Fleur wouldn’t join him there, being far too afraid of ants and other crawling insects, and, eschewing anything but a brandy, he stared broodingly towards the starlit horizon.

  ‘Is anything wrong?’

  Lucas’s enquiry disturbed his reverie, and looking up he found his assistant and the young woman who was causing him so much self-analysis standing looking down at him. He had the distinct impression that she wasn’t there through choice, but Lucas was evidently immune to her feelings. Besides, why should he suspect that there was anything more than a casual encounter between them? Hell, there was nothing more than a casual encounter between them, Matthew told himself savagely. It infuriated him that he should even have thought it was anything else.

  ‘What could be wrong?’ he queried now, gripping the post and hoisting himself to his feet. His smile was thin. ‘I’m having an absolutely— spiffing—time.’

  ‘Matt!’

  Aware of Helen beside him, Lucas was justifiably embarrassed, and Matthew allowed his narrowed gaze to encompass her taut features. ‘Are you enjoying yourself,

  Miss—? Oh, I’m sorry, but you never did tell me your name.’

  ‘It’s—Gr—Graham,’ she stammered hurriedly, and then glanced behind her, as if she half expected someone to come and contradict her. ‘And—yes. Your—er—that is, Lucas—he’s been telling me about some of the dangerous places where he’s worked.’

  ‘Really?’ Matthew’s mocking eyes turned back to his assistant. ‘None more dangerous than here, eh, Luke?’

  ‘What is it with you, Matt?’ Lucas was looking angry now, and, realising he was in danger of alienating the one person in this group who cared anything about him, Matthew lifted his shoulders in a placating gesture.

  ‘I guess my liver is just objecting to the abnormally-rich diet,’ he commented ambiguously, and had the doubtful privilege of noting their individual reactions. Helen just looked confused, but Lucas had caught the innuendo.

  ‘You were the one who said we couldn’t neglect Fleur while she was here,’ he reminded him drily, and Matthew gave a rueful grin.

  ‘Yeah, I did, didn’t I?’ he conceded, noticing almost in passing that Helen’s face had grown taut. What had he said? he wondered. Was it his imagination, or had it been the mention of Fleur that had caused her to freeze up suddenly? She couldn’t be jealous, could she? There was only one way to find out. ‘I’m afraid my sister-in-law can be a little irritating at times, Miss—er—Graham,’ he added. ‘Let me apologise on her behalf.’

  Helen swallowed. He could see the sudden contraction of her throat, and, although it had not been his intention to remind himself of his own unwilling reaction to her, he couldn’t help watching that slender column, or prevent his gaze from moving to the slight trace of cleavage revealed by the neckline of her dress.

  She had small breasts, he observed obliquely. Small, but perfectly formed. Their retrousse peaks pushed rather too obviously against the cloth, and he felt himself hardening totally against his will.

  God, he thought incredulously, was he so desperate for a woman that even the sight of an engorged nipple could push him over the brink? She was cold, perhaps, or apprehensive—though only the lord knew why. Certainly she’d given him no reason for behaving like a callow youth. For all her controlled indifference, he still sensed that she didn’t like him at all.

  In consequence, when she asked coldly, ‘What are you talking about?’ he knew an overwhelming urge to run a protective hand over his zip. He had no desire for her to know that she had disturbed him, whatever her real feelings might be.

  It took an effort, but his response sounded reasonably cool, to his ears at least. ‘Fleur called you Ellen,’ he reminded her pleasantly. ‘I’m afraid my sister-in-law only listens to what she wants to hear. It’s a little foible of hers. You must forgive her. Since my brother died, I’ve noticed it more and more.’

  There was an irony there, but obviously Helen didn’t detect it. ‘I’ll never—’ she began vehemently, and then, as if some inner restraint had kicked into gear, she faltered. ‘That is—I mean—’ She looked at both men with sudden apprehension. ‘I—never noticed,’ she amended herself hurriedly. ‘If—if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to go and check on the children.’

  She walked swiftly away, the skirt of her long dress flapping about her ankles. Matthew also observed the involuntary sway of her hips, and the unknowingly sensuous curve of buttock and thigh. Something he was not alone in approving, he sensed impatiently, finding Lucas’s attention almost as objectionable as Fleur’s at that moment.

  ‘She doesn’t like you, does she?’ his assistant remarked drily, after Helen had disappeared through the French windows. ‘I wish I hadn’t felt sorry for you now. She and I were getting along rather well.’

  ‘Were you?’

  It was a distinct effort for Matthew to be civil, and Lucas, misunderstanding the reason for his employer’s attitude, pulled a rueful face. ‘Yes, we were,’ he said earnestly. ‘And, you must admit, you didn’t look very happy. I guess Fleur has been getting to you, huh?’

  Matthew scowled. ‘I can handle Fleur,’ he declared, finishing the brandy in his glass and regarding its base dourly. ‘And I don’t need you to feel sorry for me either. I can get along without your girlfriend’s approval, believe it or not.’

  Lucas made a careless movement of his shoulders. ‘She’s not my girlfriend, Matt, and you know it.’ He pressed his lips together. ‘Not yet, anyway.’ He shrugged. ‘I don’t suppose there’s much point in getting involved with her; they’re only here for a month. But I do find her damn attractive. Did you know, she’s only been the Sheridans’ nanny for the last three months?’

  ‘Really?’

  Matthew managed to sound totally uninterested, but Lucas evidently didn’t notice. ‘Yes. Apparently, her father died six or seven months ago, leaving her virtually penniless. Whatever you think of Mrs Sheridan, at least she offered Helen a job.’

  ‘How kind.’

  Matthew’s tone was sardonic, but inwardly he couldn’t help wondering how a girl of her background should have wound up playing nursemaid for the Sheridans. Hadn’t her father had any insurance? If he’d had a daughter like Helen, he’d have made damn sure she wouldn’t be penniless when he died. He frowned. What the hell, it wasn’t anything to do with him. When this unholy gathering was over, he’d make sure he never saw any of them again…

  ‘Matt…’

  Fleur’s petulant voice sounded in his ear, and he turned to find her coming towards them. He hoped she was bored, that she was going
to ask if they could leave, but her first words were the opposite of what he wanted to hear.

  ‘Matt, darling, Drew—Andrew, that is—has suggested we have a rubber of bridge. It’s years since I’ve played, but you never forget the rules. Come and be my partner. I’m sure Lucas and Ellen won’t mind.’

  ‘Her name’s Helen,’ said Matthew grimly, before he could prevent himself, but Fleur wasn’t interested in anyone’s identity but her own.

  ‘Ellen, Helen—what does it matter?’ she exclaimed impatiently. ‘She seems hopelessly out of her depth, from the little I could see.’

  ‘That’s not true,’ said Lucas fiercely, but Matthew found he didn’t want the younger man getting involved in this discussion.

  ‘Whatever,’ he said, ‘it’s impolite not to remember someone’s name. If you start making those kinds of mistakes, Fleur, people will think you’re getting old.’

  Fleur’s lips tightened. ‘You can be a real pain sometimes, Matt, do you know that?’

  ‘I’m also not interested in playing cards,’ he averred. ‘Find yourself another partner, Fleur. I’m thinking of making my escape.’

  Fleur gasped. ‘But you can’t.’

  ‘Why can’t I?’

  ‘Because—well, because, to use your word, it would be impolite.’ Fleur turned to Lucas. ‘You know I’m right, don’t you?’

  Lucas hesitated. ‘Well—’

  ‘Then why don’t you take my place?’ suggested Matthew mockingly. ‘I’m sure you’d be much better at it than me. I’ll just help myself to another brandy.’

  ‘Matt!’

  ‘Oh, Matt!’

  It was difficult to decide which of them sounded the most put out, Matthew thought wryly, sauntering away. But, hell, he’d done his good deed for the day by bringing Fleur here. He wasn’t in the mood to jump through hoops, whoever was pulling the strings.

  In the event, it was a fairly bloodless victory. Lucas was too polite to turn Fleur down, and the Sheridans were the kind of people who didn’t question the motives of their guests. Besides, listening to Fleur explain that Matthew wasn’t feeling up to it was interesting. It made him wonder what other lies she’d told without turning a hair.