A Woman of Passion

by Anne Mather

  It was too simplistic a solution, of course. The truth was, she didn’t know why it had happened. She’d been distressed, perhaps, but hardly incoherent. Yet, when Matthew had laid his hands upon her, she’d melted like jelly in his arms.

  And, unhappily, that had complicated an already complicated situation. Yet her involvement with him had started even before she’d recognised her mother. From the moment he’d accosted her at the airport, she’d been aware of him as a man. It was crazy, because he’d made it perfectly obvious he found her foolish. Beyond stripping her of her dignity—among other things—he’d just treated her with contempt. He was probably like his brother, she thought unhappily. He didn’t care about anyone else’s feelings but his own.

  The thing she didn’t want to think about was what his relationship with her mother might be. For all she and her father had lived a fairly free and easy existence, because she had been with him so much she was pitiably ignorant when it came to men like Matthew. Her own experience told her he probably didn’t have a conscience, and if Fleur needed another protector, she could probably do a lot worse.

  She half regretted not having supper with the Sheridans later, when she lay awake for hours, wishing the dawn would come. A couple of glasses of wine might have solved her sleeping problem, and it didn’t help that she could hear Tricia and Andrew arguing through the thin walls of their bedroom.

  Eventually she did sleep, however, though this time she awakened in good time to get the children’s breakfasts. Despite her disturbed night, she felt reasonably rested, and she reflected that it sometimes happened that way. The previous day she’d overslept, and she’d felt heavy-eyed all morning.

  It was after seven, however, when she opened the shutters and stepped out on to the veranda. Long after she might have expected to see Matthew, she acknowledged with some relief. She hadn’t asked him if he’d seen her, but as she’d seen him it was always possible. She wouldn’t like him to think she was haunting him. After what had happened, she’d be wiser to keep her distance.

  Nevertheless, she couldn’t deny a sudden mental image of her mother and Matthew in bed together. Brown skin on pale flesh; straight dark hair mingling with silvery blonde curls. A hairy leg wedged between two pearl-pale thighs… Dear God, she thought in horror, what in heaven’s name was happening to her? She’d never had thoughts like these before she’d met that man.

  Henry and Sophie were less amiable this morning. Some time during the night Henry had hidden Matilda, so Helen had to spend most of the time before breakfast looking for the rag doll. Of course, Henry said he hadn’t touched it, but Sophie didn’t believe him, and after finding the doll hidden beneath the little girl’s mattress Helen didn’t believe him either.

  Consequently, they were late getting their showers, and late turning up for breakfast. Much to Helen’s dismay, the children’s father was already at the table, and she had to spend the meal parrying his teasing, which became increasingly personal.

  ‘Your father was a yachtsman, wasn’t he?’ Andrew said idly, as Helen was about to usher the children out of the door. ‘I’m thinking of renting a sailboat. Can I count on you to crew for me?’

  ‘Oh—’ Helen licked her lips, as much disturbed by

  his thoughtless question as by the implications it evoked. ‘I—don’t think I’m much good, actually. My father often sailed alone. I was never very keen.’

  Which was another lie, she thought unhappily, wondering if being a forecourt attendant at a petrol station wouldn’t have been less troublesome after all. It was all very well congratulating herself on the success of her relationship with the children, but nobody had warned her that her relationship with the parents might require a degree in social studies.

  ‘Mmm.’

  She had the feeling Andrew didn’t believe her, but she hoped, if he mentioned the matter to Tricia, that her erstwhile friend might understand her reluctance to get involved. It had been tactless to mention her father, particularly in connection with sailing, and if her motives were more personal, Tricia was not to know.

  Although she was loath to take the children on to the beach again, the idea of staying by the pool, and perhaps being dragged into another of the Sheridans’ arguments, didn’t give her much of a choice. Besides, she doubted they would encounter the Aitkens a second time. A coincidence was a coincidence, but once was surely enough.

  The children had brought their buckets and spades, and Helen spent the first half-hour helping Henry construct a castle. He had very definite ideas of how high he wanted it to be, and where they should put the moat, and keeping Sophie from jeopardising the project took all her concentration.

  Nevertheless, some sixth sense seemed to alert her the moment Fleur appeared from the belt of palms that fringed the end of the beach. Once again, her mother was alone, and the connotations of that circumstance couldn’t be ignored. She had to have a reason for coming here, whether Matthew had aborted the purpose of yesterday’s visit or not. Helen’s nerves tightened unpleasantly, but there was no way she could avoid the woman’s presence.

  ‘It’s Mrs Aitken,’ cried Sophie, being less interested in the castle and therefore more easily diverted. She looked at Helen. ‘D’you think she’s come to see us?’

  ‘I doubt it.’ Helen tried to be casual, merely casting the woman a polite smile before continuing with her task. ‘Henry, pass me that shell, will you? I need to shore up the sides of the gateway.’

  ‘Good morning.’

  Fleur was evidently determined to create as much disruption as possible, and Henry looked up at her with a critical frown. ‘We’re making a castle.’ he said. ‘Do you want to help us? We need someone to fetch the water, and Sophie always spills it.’

  ‘No, I don’t.’

  ‘Yes, you do.’

  The children started one of their usual pointless arguments, and Helen, who could see the half-built castle coming to a sorry end, got automatically to her feet. Henry was pushing Sophie now, and she was trying to retaliate, stepping all over his carefully laid foundations, and wringing a cry of anguish from her brother.

  Helen moved to separate them, glad she hadn’t shed her T-shirt and shorts as she’d done the previous day. Her mother, cool and elegant in flowing lemon trousers and a long silk sweater, was watching the proceedings with a resigned expression, her pale eyes hidden as before beneath a pair of dark glasses.

  ‘Leave them to it,’ Fleur said carelessly, and Helen thought how incongruous it had been of Henry to ask her to join them. The idea of Fleur fetching water or helping Henry build his castle was ludicrous. Helen doubted she’d ever been that kind of mother. Even when she was young. She was more at home beside a swimming-pool than braving the ravages of the beach.

  So why was she here?

  ‘Can we talk?’ Fleur added quietly, glancing rather apprehensively about her. ‘I’m sure these two can amuse themselves for five minutes, if we just saunter down to the ocean.’

  Helen held up her head. ‘Why should I want to saunter down to the ocean with you?’ she asked tersely. ‘We hardly know one another.’

  ‘That’s true.’ Fleur didn’t attempt to deny it. ‘But there’s something we have to talk about, and I think you know what it is.’

  Helen’s mouth dried. No, she thought unsteadily. No, she had nothing to say to this brittle woman, who she suspected was only here now because she was afraid of what Helen might tell the Sheridans. Through all the years she’d thought about her mother, and wondered what she was like, she’d never imagined confronting her like this. Dear God, she didn’t even like her. It would have been so much simpler if they’d never ever met.

  ‘I—don’t think so,’ she said at last, bending down to rescue one of Sophie’s plastic sandals, which was in danger of being buried in the sand. Just go away, she begged silently. I really don’t want to talk to you. I’ll keep your dirty little secret, never fear.

  ‘Please, Helen.’ Fleur took off her dark glasses and gave her an appealing
look. ‘Don’t you think I deserve a few minutes of your time? Is that really too much to ask?’

  Helen took a breath. ‘We’ve got nothing to say to one another,’ she declared in a low voice, and Fleur sighed.

  ‘Yes, we do,’ she retorted. ‘There may be some way I can help you. D’you think I like to see my—my daughter skivvying for someone else?’

  Helen glanced anxiously towards Henry and Sophie, but to her relief they were still intent on destroying the castle. Henry appeared to have joined his sister now, in trampling down the battlements, and Helen wondered why she’d bothered to take so much trouble.

  Without giving in to her mother’s suggestion that they put some distance between themselves and the children, Helen compromised by turning her back on her charges. ‘I don’t need your help, thank you,’ she said, without admitting their relationship. ‘The Sheridans have been kind to me. Since—since Daddy died, I’ve learned who my real friends are.’

  Fleur caught her lower lip between her teeth. ‘I read—about what happened. I still have friends—acquaintances—in England, who thought it their responsibility to let me know that Jimmy had drowned. I would have got in touch with you then, but I was having—problems. Chase—Chase died a couple of months ago. I expect you knew that, too.’

  ‘No. No, I didn’t,’ said Helen, not bothering to mention the fact that Matthew had told her. After all, what did it matter? She’d had no love for Chase Ait ken.

  ‘Well, he did.’ Fleur visibly wilted. ‘It was a terrible shock for—for all of us. He was such a young man.’

  ‘My father was a young man, too.’ Helen didn’t attempt to sympathise with her. ‘So—I suppose we’ve both lost a loved one. That’s the only thing we’ve got in common.’

  ‘No, it’s not.’ Fleur stretched out her hand, then, as Helen flinched away, she withdrew it again. ‘Don’t you want to know how I recognised you? It wasn’t your name, Miss—Graham.

  Helen coloured. ‘I didn’t want you to recognise me,’ she said, casting an unnecessary glance towards the children. ‘I don’t want you to recognise me now. It’s been too many years; too many things have happened. I don’t want to talk about it. I just wish you’d go away.’

  Her mother sucked in her breath. ‘You’re very bitter.’

  Helen stared at her. ‘Wouldn’t you be?’

  ‘Perhaps.’ Fleur had the grace to be honest. ‘But, now that we’ve met again, can’t we at least speak civilly to one another?’

  ‘We are speaking civilly to one another.’ Helen sighed. ‘Look—just say what you have to say and go. Oh, and you needn’t worry that I’ll tell anyone about this meeting. Strange as it may seem, I’ve got some pride, too.’

  Fleur bit her lip. ‘You’re just like me, you know.’

  ‘No—’

  ‘Yes.’ Fleur hesitated. ‘When I was your age, I looked a lot like you. Oh, you’re taller, and you wear your hair longer, but that’s not important. When I saw you at the party I was staggered no one else had seen the resemblance.’

  Helen’s lip curled. ‘Is that supposed to be a compliment?’

  Fleur laughed. ‘Perhaps.’ She lifted her shoulders. ‘I see you’ve inherited Jimmy’s arrogance. That’s exactly how he’d have reacted if I’d said it to him.’

  Helen bent her head. ‘Is that all you wanted to say?’

  ‘No.’ Fleur regarded her with an expression that was hard to define. ‘Believe it or not, I wanted to tell you my side of the story. I should never have married your father. Did he tell you that?’

  ‘Frequently,’ said Helen, though in truth James Gregory had never discussed his relationship with his wife. Like everything else about her mother, it had been banished. If he’d had any remorse, he’d never relayed it to her.

  ‘Mmm.’ Her mother absorbed what she’d said with a jaded smile, and Helen guessed she didn’t believe a word. She had to remember that Fleur had known James Gregory rather well. And he simply hadn’t been the type to expose his real feelings.

  ‘Well,’ Fleur said at last, ‘you’ll know, then, that our relationship was doomed from the start. Your father married me because he wanted children. I married him because I was a woman of passion. I needed a man’s—attentions—to make me whole.’

  Helen caught her breath. ‘I don’t want to hear this.’

  ‘Why not?’ Fleur seemed almost amused by her daughter’s revulsion. ‘It should reassure you. It should make you see that when I left I wasn’t punishing you. I was punishing your father, I suppose, if that’s relevant. You can’t imagine what it was like. Our life was so dull!’

  ‘Don’t say any more.’

  Helen tried to turn away, but Fleur continued relentlessly. ‘Can’t you even try to imagine how frustrated I was? All your father wanted was a brood mare. As soon as I’d had you, he began talking about how soon we could have another child, maybe a son this time. I stuck it for as long as I could, but when he found out I’d been using a contraceptive, he became impossible.’

  ‘Please.’

  Helen wanted to put her hands over her ears and run away, but with Henry and Sophie only yards from them there was little she could do.

  ‘Listen to me,’ Fleur persisted. ‘Your father was a good man, but he was boring. I needed someone more—vital. Someone who wanted me, not just my genes.’

  Helen gave her a tortured look. ‘You found what you wanted with Chase Aitken, I suppose?’ she said harshly, horrified to find she was on the verge of tears. ‘Well, don’t expect me to betray my father. He cared for me. He cared for me deeply. You—you only cared for yourself.’

  Fleur pulled a face. ‘I knew you’d say that.’

  ‘It’s the truth.’

  ‘Is it?’ Fleur’s lips twisted. ‘I wonder. What if I told you I regretted marrying Chase, too? You see—’ her small teeth tugged at her lower lip ‘—I think I married the wrong brother. But I’m hoping to get it right next time. Will you wish me luck?’

  CHAPTER NINE

  ‘WHAT?’

  Lucas stared at him as if he couldn’t believe his ears, and Matthew had to admit his statement had caused himself some astonishment, too. The only time he gave dinner parties was when his publisher or his agent came down from New York. He certainly didn’t socialise with his neighbours, or invite them into his house.

  ‘Well,’ he said now, his tone revealing a defensiveness he would rather not have exposed, ‘I’ve got to do something to get Fleur off my back. She’s driving me crazy. God knows when I’ll get this book finished.’

  Lucas regarded him dourly. ‘And how will giving a dinner party for the Sheridans get Fleur off your back?’ he demanded. ‘Dammit, you said you didn’t even like them. Why invite them here?’

  ‘Because it will give Fleur something to do—organising the menu, that sort of thing,’ declared Matthew quickly. ‘And as I’ve persuaded my father to leave the ranch for a couple of days, the least I can do is provide some entertainment.’

  ‘Since when did Ben care about being entertained?’ asked Lucas impatiently. ‘And if you’re doing this for me, then I’d sooner make my own arrangements, thank you.’

  ‘For you—?’ began Matthew blankly, and Lucas gave him an old-fashioned look.

  ‘Yeah. So I can see Helen again,’ he exclaimed, his expression becoming somewhat whimsical. ‘If it’s all the same to you, I’d as soon take her to the Greenhouse. The food there is excellent, and we won’t have to worry about any of the Sheridans butting in.’

  Matthew looked down at the pile of uncorrected manuscript on the desk in front of him, and mentally drew a breath. Anything to avoid looking into Lucas’s open face. For God’s sake, the idea that Lucas might misinterpret his motives that way hadn’t even occurred to him. He was so wrapped up with his own selfish problems he hadn’t given the other man a thought.

  ‘Besides,’ went on Lucas doggedly, ‘I thought the last thing you’d want to do is appease the woman. Arranging parties for her is just playing into her hands.
She’ll get off both our backs much sooner if we ignore her. If there’s one thing Fleur doesn’t like it’s to be bored.’

  Matthew sighed. ‘Maybe.’

  ‘What do you mean, maybe? You know it’s the truth. How long is she expecting to stay anyway? She’s already been here over a week.’

  Tell me about it, Matthew brooded to himself irritably, remembering the days before his sister-in-law’s arrival with some nostalgia. Days before he’d met Helen, too, he acknowledged, before he could push the thought away. Which might prove even more significant, unless he could get her out of his head.

  ‘I’m hoping that—given a little sweetener—she may decide to travel back to the ranch with my father,’ he replied at last, though he doubted she’d go willingly. And was it fair to unload his problems on to the old man? he wondered grimly. Even with the financial settlement he had in mind, he sensed it wouldn’t be that easy.

  Lucas hunched his shoulders. ‘Well, I think you’re mad. And Ben will think so, too, when he gets here. You don’t owe her a thing, Matt. She was your brother’s wife, not yours. If he didn’t make any sensible provision for her, why the hell should you?’

  Because…

  Because he’d once let Fleur think he was interested in her? Why else would she have come to his room that night, if not because he had been giving out the wrong signals? She’d believed he’d wanted her. Had she told Chase about that? Was that why in recent years he’d seen so little of his brother? And, God forbid, was that the reason Chase had been drinking before he played that final—fatal—match?

  ‘You’re not—interested—in her, are you?’

  Lucas had misinterpreted his silence, and his doubtful enquiry brought Matthew swiftly to his senses. ‘Goddammit, no!’

  Lucas breathed more easily. ‘I’m glad to hear it. For a moment there, I wondered.’