A Woman of Passion

by Anne Mather

  She couldn’t eat any lunch and, reassuring Joanne that she was just feeling under the weather, she decided to skip the afternoon’s classes and spend the time in the park. She could have gone back to her bed-sitter, but Mrs Reams was bound to be curious, and she didn’t want her asking questions that she wasn’t prepared to answer.

  It was a warm June afternoon and, finding an empty bench, Helen folded up her sweater and stuffed it into her haversack. The heat was pleasant on her bare arms, now exposed by the cotton vest she was wearing, and she tilted her head wearily and turned her face to the sun.

  But the warm day was too reminiscent of that other warm day she had spent at Dragon Bay, and although she’d planned to throw the letter away she pulled it out of her pocket. The folds she had made bisected the paper; it would be incredibly easy to destroy. She should tear it into little pieces, she thought, and drop it into the nearest rubbish bin.

  Instead, she extracted the slip of paper from its envelope again, and smoothed the creases out on her knee. The words were the same; Tricia was evidently still at odds with her. But this time she read beyond her signature; this time she read the address.

  ‘Ryan’s Bend,’ she mused aloud, after taking note of the fact that apparently it was a stud farm. ‘Benjamin Aitken, Ryan’s Bend, Kinsville, Tallahassee, Florida.’

  There was a telephone number, too, and Helen thought that if she had intended to contact Matthew’s father, that was how she’d have done it. But, as she didn’t intend to contact him, as she had no wish for another verbal bludgeoning, there wasn’t much point in noting it down.

  She sighed. She was surprised Tricia had agreed to convey the message to her. Since the events of that morning at Dragon Bay, Tricia had scarcely spoken to her at all. It had been Andrew who had informed her her services were no longer required, Andrew who had contemptuously dismissed her anxious attempts to explain.

  ‘I always thought you were a sly minx,’ he’d said, after they were back at the Parrishs’ villa. ‘Butter wouldn’t melt, and all that. But you were holding out for richer game.’

  Of course, Tricia hadn’t been around when he’d said that. Or she might conceivably have wondered what he’d meant. No, Tricia had retired to bed with a headache. And Helen had borne the brunt of Andrew’s temper.

  She had wondered afterwards whether Tricia might not have found it in her heart to overlook what had happened if Andrew hadn’t put his spoke in. After all, her work hadn’t suffered. And the children liked to be with her as well. But Andrew had insisted that they couldn’t continue to employ her; that she might be a bad influence on Henry and Sophie. And although in her stronger moments Helen had known that he was jealous, she’d despised herself so bitterly that she’d packed her bags.

  One of the worst aspects of the whole affair was the suspicion she had that she’d proved to be no better than her mother. After all these years of despising Fleur for abandoning her home and family, it had only taken a couple of weeks for Matthew Aitken to get her into his bed. How had it happened? When she’d gone to Dragon Bay that morning, she’d had no inkling of how it would end. Even now, with the knowledge of that self-betrayal behind her, she found it difficult to accept what she had done.

  And yet, if she was honest, she had to admit that at no time had Matthew ever forced her to stay. True, he’d kissed her, and caressed her, but he hadn’t tied her down. She could have left at any time. She had had only to open the door. But somehow he had bewitched her, and she hadn’t wanted to leave.

  But why?

  Three toddlers were playing ball under the protective eye of their parents, and Helen watched them, too, trying to put all thoughts of Matthew Aitken out of her mind. But although the children were beguiling, and so trusting in their innocence, she couldn’t forget Matthew’s face when Fleur had accused her of using him.

  Fleur…

  Helen’s hands clenched together in her lap. She hadn’t heard a word from Fleur since she had left the villa that morning. Her mother hadn’t even tried to contact her and demand an explanation. It was as if she didn’t exist, as if their brief reunion on the island had never happened. She knew now that Fleur had only been using her to ensure that her identity was never revealed.

  The fact that Fleur herself had revealed it was immaterial now. Obviously, the shock of finding Helen and Matthew together had temporarily unhinged her mind. The way she’d looked, the bitter fury in her gaze when she’d seen her daughter, was forever imprinted in Helen’s subconscious. That woman didn’t love her. Helen thought she probably hated her now, for making her betray the truth.

  A pain knifed through her stomach.

  As always, it was the memory of Matthew that hurt the most. He had been so ready to believe Fleur; so ready to accuse her. It was as if he’d been expecting it; as if he’d wanted to believe the worst. And why? Had she just been a morning’s diversion? He obviously hadn’t cared about her feelings.

  Not as she’d cared about him…

  Helen frowned. Now where had that come from? She didn’t care about him. She couldn’t care about him. He was Chase Aitken’s brother. The brother of the man who’d destroyed her father’s life.

  And yet…

  Pulling out a tissue, she quickly blew her nose. She must be getting a cold, she thought tautly. Maybe that was why she was feeling so down. It wasn’t the letter, or the weight of memory that came with it. It was just a dose of summer flu that was going around.

  Her eyes watered suddenly and, scrubbing the heels of her hands across them, she felt an overwhelming sense of desolation. Who was she kidding? she chided herself painfully. Of course she’d cared about Matthew. That was why she’d been so desperate, why she’d tried to contact him again before she left.

  She cringed now, thinking of that phone call. She’d been at the airport, waiting for the evening flight to London, and she’d been half afraid his number would be unavailable. But it hadn’t been. The operator had given it to her directly. And she’d dialled Dragon Bay with trembling fingers, praying that Matthew would be there.

  She’d wanted to explain, she’d told herself. Fleur had had her say, but Helen had been too stunned to defend herself. Besides, with Lucas there it had seemed such a fiasco. And Matthew had left her to it. He hadn’t even said goodbye.

  Lucas had answered the call, she remembered now. And, when she’d first heard his voice, she’d believed she was in luck. Lucas knew her; he knew she wasn’t capable of the things her mother had accused her of. He’d understand why she wanted to speak to Matthew. He’d be on her side.

  But he hadn’t been. As soon as he had realised who it was, his voice, his manner, his whole attitude had changed. Matthew wouldn’t speak to her, he’d informed her coldly. Matthew wasn’t speaking to anyone. And he’d particularly mentioned her. He didn’t want to speak to her again.

  She’d hung up with a feeling of total annihilation. She’d boarded the plane to London and spent the whole trip in a daze. What she was going to do, where she was going to live—those problems hadn’t touched her. It wasn’t until she landed in England that she’d realised what she had to face.

  Fortunately, the cold air of a March morning had helped to clear her head, and by the time the airport shuttle dropped her at Victoria she had a little idea of what she had to do. A bed and breakfast to begin with; and then somewhere more permanent to settle down; and a job—not necessarily in that order. She would never again rely on so-called friends.

  In the event she hadn’t found a job, but she had enrolled at the secretarial college. Six weeks of looking for work, and of spending her nights crying for something she could never have, had given her a new perspective on her future. She was alone, yes, but that didn’t mean she had to take any employment that was offered to her. She had a little money saved and, if she was careful, she could take the secretarial course. Good secretaries were paid accordingly, and she intended to be very good.

  But now this, she fretted, looking at the letter again. Why could
n’t they leave her alone? Hadn’t they done enough? Besides which, she hardly knew Matthew’s father. She’d only met him briefly that one time. Which brought her thoughts round full-circle. Oh, God, why hadn’t she destroyed the letter straight away?

  She sniffed, feeling a burning behind her eyes that had nothing to do with influenza. She felt as if she’d been nursing an injury and now someone had exposed it, tearing aside the fragile skin that had been growing over the wound.

  She read Ben Aitken’s address again. A stud farm, she thought, trying to drum up the resentment she knew she should be feeling. No doubt that was where Chase Aitken had got his polo ponies. Did Matthew play polo as well?

  No, she reminded herself, he was a writer. Since coming back to England, she’d learned he was a fairly successful one as well. She’d even borrowed one of his books from the library, but she hadn’t been able to read it. The words were far too close to him, and she’d severed even that connection.

  Stuffing the letter into her pocket again, she hoisted her haversack and got to her feet. Sooner or later they’d realise that she wanted nothing more to do with them.

  The next few days weren’t easy, but, like with everything else, time put a welcome buffer between her actions and her thoughts. She was busy with the course, and she even had supper with Joanne and her family one evening. She was making a life, she told herself. She didn’t need anything—or anyone—else.

  Then, one evening, when she got back from college, Mrs Reams came to meet her with a conspiratorial smile. ‘You’ve had a visitor, Miss Gregory,’ she exclaimed confidingly. ‘A gentleman. I said he could stay with me until you got in, but he didn’t want to. He said he’d come back later.’ She frowned. ‘Are you all right?’

  Helen felt limp, her legs like jelly. ‘A gentleman?’ she echoed, not having got past that initial announcement, and Mrs Reams nodded, giving her an anxious look.

  ‘That’s right, dear. An American gentleman, he was. Not young, you understand, but ever so handsome. Treated me like a lady, he did. He said he didn’t want to trouble me. Well, of course, I said it was no trouble at all, but he still insisted he wouldn’t wait.’

  Helen let out her breath on a trembling sigh. ‘He’s coming back?’ she swallowed. ‘When?’

  ‘I don’t know, dear. Tonight, I expect. I said you were usually at home. I told him you were studying to be a secretary.’

  ‘Is there anything you didn’t tell him?’ asked Helen sharply, and then felt sorry when Mrs Reams looked taken aback. ‘Oh—it doesn’t matter. I’m just feeling tetchy.’ She hesitated. ‘Did he give you his name?’

  ‘His name!’ Easily reassured, Mrs Reams gave a girlish laugh. ‘Oh, my, yes, aren’t I silly? He told me his name was Aitken. He said you’d know who he was.’

  Helen’s head sagged. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘You do know who he is, then?’ the landlady persisted, and Helen gave her a rueful look.

  ‘Yes. He’s—a friend of my previous employer. I expect he’s visiting London on business, and decided to look me up.’

  It was a poor excuse, but Mrs Reams didn’t seem to notice it. ‘Your previous employer?’ she said chattily. ‘And who would that be, dear? I didn’t realise you’d been working. I thought you said you couldn’t find a job.’

  ‘I couldn’t. That is—Oh, it’s a long story.’ Helen didn’t want to get into that right now. ‘Um—well, if he comes back, I suppose I’d better see him. Will you send him up, Mrs Reams? I shan’t be going out.’

  However, later that evening, Helen had cause to regret her rash words. Seven o’clock passed, then eight, with no sign of Matthew’s father. If he had been going to come back, surely he’d have been here by now. Instead of which she was sitting here like a pigeon, just waiting to be knocked off its perch.

  Apprehension set in, and a not-unexpected feeling of panic. Why was he coming to see her? she wondered. To confirm she’d got his message? And, if so, what had that message meant? Surely Fleur hadn’t sent him, not after the way she’d behaved. And if she had, Helen didn’t think she wanted to know.

  And then, at about half-past nine, when she was thinking of getting ready for bed, there was a knock at her door. Her mouth dried, and her tongue felt as if it was glued to the roof of her mouth, but she had to answer it. She’d told Mrs Reams to send her visitor up. And the landlady knew she hadn’t gone out.

  For all her complaints that climbing the stairs was bad for her, Mrs Reams was standing beside the man waiting outside. It was Matthew’s father, Helen saw instantly. And the tiny hope she’d nurtured, that Matthew might be with him, died a death.

  ‘Here we are,’ said Mrs Reams triumphantly, and Helen guessed her curiosity had got the better of her. The landlady evidently wanted to see for herself how Helen would greet him, and when Ben Aitken held out his hand she was obviously disappointed.

  ‘Sorry to be so late,’ he said apologetically. ‘I’m afraid I went back to my hotel and fell asleep. I flew over last night and I never can sleep on aircraft. Too much noise and turbulence. I hope you’ll forgive me.’

  So polite!

  To Helen, who didn’t quite know what she had expected, but certainly not such courtesy, his words were like a balm. Unexpectedly, she felt that awful pricking behind her eyes again. Turning away, so he shouldn’t see it, she said, ‘Please, come in.’

  ‘I’ll leave you, then,’ said Mrs Reams regretfully. She turned to the man. ‘It’s good for Miss Gregory to have some company for a change. Quite a recluse, she is usually. Hardly goes out at all, and I should know.’

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Reams.’ Helen recovered sufficiently to give the landlady a reproving look, and the old lady pulled a face before starting down the stairs. ‘I’m sorry,’ said Helen, closing the door, ‘I’m afraid Mrs Reams is rather nosy. But she means well, and she’s been very kind to me.’

  Ben Aitken stood just inside the door, looking politely round the room. Seeing it with his eyes, Helen was instantly aware of its shortcomings, but it was clean and neat and serviceable, and it was her home.

  ‘Won’t you sit down?’ she asked, pointing to one of a pair of worn plush armchairs and moving towards the electric ring. ‘Can I get you a drink? Some coffee, perhaps? I’m afraid I don’t have anything cold.’

  ‘Nothing for the moment,’ replied Matthew’s father easily, lowering his long length into the chair she’d indicated. He looked round again. ‘So this is where you live. Mrs Reams told me you’re studying at college.’

  ‘Just secretarial college,’ said Helen quickly, taking the armchair opposite and folding her hands in her lap. ‘I—don’t have any formal qualifications, you see, so I—’

  ‘I’m not here to question what you choose to do with your life,’ he declared at once. ‘Just to—ensure that

  you’re all right. We That is—my son—was afraid Fleur might make things difficult for you.’

  Helen swallowed. ‘Fleur?’ she echoed faintly, and Ben Aitken nodded.

  ‘You have seen your mother, haven’t you?’

  Helen shook her head.

  ‘But she—we——’ He was obviously finding this as awkward as she was, because he looped his hands over the arms of the chair and fixed her with a troubled stare. ‘You haven’t seen your mother? She hasn’t been in touch with you at all?’ He sighed. ‘Oh, dear, Matt was right. She is only interested in herself.’

  Helen took a breath. ‘If—if it’s any consolation to you, I don’t mind. Not seeing her, I mean. I—we have nothing in common, whatever you believe. I thought we might have for a while, but I was wrong.’

  ‘Even so—’ Matthew’s father looked un comfortable. ‘She was—supposed to come and see you. To make sure that you were all right. Matt knew you’d lost your job because of him, and he was anxious. He wanted to offer some—recompense.’ He coloured. ‘It was the only thing he could think of to do.’

  ‘Matt!’ Helen stared at him, aghast. ‘You mean, Matt asked my mother to offer money to me? Ug
h!’ Her revulsion was obvious, and she sprang to her feet with distaste. ‘I think you’d better go, Mr Aitken. I appreciate that this isn’t your problem, but I’ve heard enough.’

  Ben Aitken sighed. ‘Miss Gregory—Helen please—’

  ‘No, I don’t want to hear your excuses,’ she told him stiffly. ‘I know you thought what you were doing was right. But people do things differently on this side of the Atlantic. And if your son thinks he can buy—’

  ‘He doesn’t,’ interrupted Ben Aitken heavily. ‘Darn it, I knew I’d go about this the wrong way. Matt isn’t trying to—buy—anything. Miss Gregory. He just wants to know you’re—secure.’

  ‘Why?’ Helen’s lip curled, and Ben Aitken looked up at her with rueful eyes.

  ‘I would have thought that was obvious,’ he said. ‘He’s concerned about you. He thought Fleur wasn’t to be trusted, and it appears she wasn’t.’

  ‘So he thought he’d get you to offer me money instead.’ Helen trembled. ‘I find that insulting.’

  ‘Do you?’ Ben Aitken pulled a wry face. ‘Well, where I come from they say pride doesn’t put butter on your greens.’

  Helen flushed. ‘Well, you can tell—your son—I manage. Even if I didn’t, I’d still want nothing from him.’

  ‘Yes, I think he knows that,’ affirmed Ben wearily. ‘When you didn’t answer his letters, he surely knew. But that doesn’t stop him worrying about you, let me tell you. Goddammit, the man’s hurting! Why else d’you think I agreed to come?’

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  HELEN sagged against the back of the chair. ‘What did you say?’ she asked weakly, and Matthew’s father gave her an impatient look.

  ‘Ah, hell!’ he exclaimed. ‘Matt’d kill me if he knew what I’d just said. Look here, Miss Gregory, I want you to forget it. It’s not even relevant to why I’ve come.’

  ‘It is.’ Helen stared at him intently and then hauled herself round the chair and into the seat. ‘What was that you said about—about letters? I haven’t had any letters. Well, not from—from Matt, anyway. Just from Tricia.’