by Anne Mather
Ironically enough, he was desperate to see her then, and as soon as he felt his legs would support him he stumbled across the room to the windows to stare intently at the girl frolicking so happily in his pool.
Melissa had borrowed one of Rhea’s swimsuits and he told himself it was the sophistication of the cream and brown bikini that gave her young body such a look of maturity. It had to be, he insisted, but with a hopeless lack of conviction in the thought.
The trouble was, he was then able to see similarities between the two girls, likenesses that until that moment had been distorted, not just by his ignorance, but by Melissa’s use of make-up and the ugly clothes she wore.
A black wave of fury swept over him, compounded by his blindness and Helen’s total lack of honesty. Why hadn’t she told him? She should have told him. If he was Melissa’s biological father, he had had a right to know.
But then he remembered something she’d said to him just after she’d stepped off the ferry. She’d asked him about his wife. His wife! How had she known he’d had a wife? He hadn’t told her, and he doubted it would have come up in Sam’s letters to her. And why was it that whoever had delivered that piece of information hadn’t also told her he’d got a divorce? He was baffled.
He sighed now and felt Melissa’s eyes slide in his direction. She was sitting beside him in the front of the Mercedes, and now she said curiously, ‘Did I do something wrong?’
Immediately, he felt contrite. He hadn’t spoken to her since they’d left Vassilios and he should have guessed she’d be curious.
‘Of course not,’ he said, glancing her way and experiencing another shock of recognition. Dammit, she had his eyes. And his nose. ‘Did you enjoy yourself?’
‘I overstayed my welcome, right?’ she declared, as if he hadn’t spoken. ‘Hey, blame your sister, not me.’
‘Did I say you’d overstayed your welcome?’ he countered shortly, tamping down the impulse to tell her not to speak to him that way. He drew a deep breath. ‘I just hope your mother hasn’t been worried about you.’
Though she would be, he guessed, suddenly understanding Helen’s reluctance to allow him and Melissa to spend time together. She must be living in fear that he’d ask the girl how old she was.
‘She’s always worrying about me,’ said Melissa indifferently, drawing up one foot to rest her heel on the edge of the seat.
Milos hesitated. ‘And does she have a reason for that?’ he ventured carefully, and Melissa grimaced.
‘She thinks so.’
‘Why?’
‘You don’t want to know.’
‘I do.’ Milos was amazed at how much he wanted to know. ‘Doesn’t she approve of the way you dress?’
‘Did she tell you that?’
‘No.’
‘So what are you saying? That you don’t approve either?’
Milos shook his head. ‘We weren’t talking about me.’
‘No, I know.’ She cast him a speculative look. ‘So why are you so interested?’
‘I’m trying to—to get to know you.’
‘Yeah, right.’ Melissa was sardonic. ‘What you really mean is, you’re trying to impress my mum. You didn’t really want to take me out. You just wanted to score points with her.’
‘You couldn’t be more wrong.’ In actual fact, Milos couldn’t remember why he’d agreed to take her out. It seemed so long ago now. Almost in a parallel universe. He made another effort to get through to her. ‘Wouldn’t you like us to be—friends?’
‘Yeah, yeah.’ Patently, she didn’t believe him. ‘Lucky for you that Rhea was there, wasn’t it?’
Lucky? Milos wouldn’t have used that word himself. Yet he acknowledged that sooner or later he was bound to have guessed the truth. Or, at least, he hoped he would.
And there was still Helen …
‘So what did she say about me?’ Melissa asked suddenly, and once again Milos was nonplussed.
‘Who?’
‘Rhea, of course. She must have said something. She said she was going to ask you when you were taking me home, but she took ages.’
Milos considered his words very carefully before replying. ‘If you must know,’ he said, ‘she was telling me how much she was enjoying your company. You’re very different from the girls she usually mixes with.’
‘Tell me about it.’ He saw her soft lips compress and for a moment she was incredibly like her mother. ‘So I didn’t bore her, huh?’
‘No.’ Milos knew an unexpected surge of compassion, and for the first time he realised he wanted her to like him. ‘Were you?’
‘Me?’ He tried to ignore the way she wedged her foot against the console before continuing. ‘Hell, no. It was wicked!’
Wicked?
It wasn’t Milos’s usual understanding of the word, but judging from Melissa’s expression it meant something good. ‘I’m glad,’ he said, and he meant it. ‘Maybe we can do the same thing again?’
‘Maybe.’ Melissa regarded him critically. ‘So long as you don’t start telling me what to do.’
‘People do that, do they?’
Melissa shrugged. ‘They say I’m uncontrollable.’
‘And are you?’
‘No.’ She was indignant. ‘But I can’t help it if I find school a drag.’
‘Why do you find it a drag?’
Melissa lifted her shoulders again. ‘I don’t know, do I?’
‘I’m sure you do.’
Her jaw jutted. ‘You think you’re so clever, don’t you? You think getting me to talk about school and stuff will make me start to like it?’
‘I wouldn’t be so presumptuous,’ said Milos drily. ‘But sometimes if people don’t enjoy things, it’s because they don’t understand what’s going on.’
‘Are you implying I’m thick?’ Melissa huffed. ‘You have to be kidding! I can do their assignments standing on my head!’
‘So why don’t you?’
‘Yeah, and be known as a nerd!’ Melissa was scornful. ‘No, thanks, I prefer to hang with my friends.’
Milos shook his head. ‘Are you sure they’re not the—what was it you said?—the thick ones? It seems more sensible to me to use your brains if you want to be a success.’
‘Hey, did I say I wanted to be a success?’ asked Melissa sharply.
‘You said you wanted a car like this,’ Milos reminded her. ‘Cars cost money.’
‘What would you know about it?’ retorted Melissa rudely. ‘I doubt if you’ve ever had to work for anything in your life.’
Milos expelled a breath. ‘That’s what you think, is it?’
‘Yes. No.’ Melissa looked a little shamefaced now. ‘I just mean, we’re not like you.’
You could be, thought Milos, the realisation that he had a responsibility here striking him with sudden force. But would Helen let him help her? He somehow doubted he would be given the chance.
It didn’t surprise him to find Helen perched on the low stone wall that edged the terrace waiting for them. ‘Oh, boy, a welcoming committee,’ muttered Melissa gloomily. ‘Are you gonna tell her what I’ve said?’ She frowned. ‘Or were you given orders to sort me out?’
‘No one gives me orders,’ retorted Milos shortly, and then, meeting Melissa’s I-told-you-so look, he pulled a face. ‘Not usually, anyway,’ he amended, knowing exactly what she was thinking, and they were sharing a smile of mutual understanding when the car halted beside her mother.
Helen was still wearing the skirt and halter she’d had on earlier. The skirt was shorter than she usually wore and Milos’s eyes were instantly drawn to her slim arms and long, slender legs. Her hair had come loose from the pony-tail, too, and he wondered if it was because she’d been running anxious hands through it that thick damp strands were clinging sensuously to her flushed cheeks.
She reached for the door as soon as the car had stopped, pulling it open for Melissa to alight. ‘I can do it,’ Melissa grumbled, and Milos hoped she was sorry because the trip was over. She gave
him a rueful look. ‘Thanks for the ride.’
‘My pleasure,’ he said, and, without waiting for her mother to join her, Melissa sauntered up the steps and into the villa. Which left Milos alone with Helen. The ideal opportunity to confront her, he thought. So why did he feel such a reluctance to do so? What if he was wrong?
Her sudden outburst startled him. ‘You had no right to be so long,’ she exclaimed. ‘You must have known I’d be worried about her. What on earth have you been doing?’
Finding out I had a daughter?
But he found he couldn’t say that. What if she denied it? What would he do then? Did he really want to find out?
‘You knew I was taking her to meet my sister,’ he said instead. ‘Melissa wanted to have a swim and I didn’t think it would be a federal offence.’
Helen wrapped her arms around her waist. ‘You should have said so.’
‘I thought I just did.’
‘No. I mean—oh, it doesn’t matter. I expect Melissa enjoyed herself.’
‘We all did,’ said Milos mildly and saw how her eyes flickered warily to his. ‘Rhea, too,’ he added, taking pity on her. ‘She’s not that much older than Melissa.’
‘I thought you said she was eighteen?’
‘So?’
He dared her to contradict him, but she didn’t. ‘Well,’ she said, with a careless lift of her shoulders, ‘Melissa’s home now. That’s the important thing.’
‘Is it?’
She stiffened. ‘What else is there?’
Milos gave her a studied look. ‘I was wondering if you’d told your father about—us yet.’
‘No!’ Her denial was vehement, and with his new knowledge he realised how revealing that was.
‘Why not?’
‘You can ask me that?’ Helen’s face burned with colour. ‘Have you no shame?’
Milos’s brows arched. ‘Have you?’ he countered, stung by her persistence in blaming him for what had happened between them. ‘I’d have thought you’d be eager to tell him how I betrayed his trust. But perhaps you have other reasons not to?’
Helen’s eyes widened now, giving her the look of a rabbit that had been caught in the headlights of a passing car. ‘Wh—what other reasons?’ she stammered, evidently caught off guard by his question, and if Milos had had any doubts about Melissa’s parentage, her reaction erased them.
‘You tell me,’ he said, despising himself for feeling sorry for her now. And before she could answer him, Melissa appeared at the top of the steps.
‘Hey, Sam says I’m to invite you in for a drink,’ she called, addressing herself to Milos, and he could almost feel Helen’s relief at the interruption.
But Melissa wasn’t finished. Coming down the steps towards them, she took in the evident tension between him and her mother and her eyes narrowed. ‘What’s going on? Did I interrupt something?’
CHAPTER SIX
HELEN stood in front of the long mirror in her bathroom the following evening regarding her appearance with definite misgivings. Why had she let Melissa persuade her that the black silk top, with its spaghetti straps and plunging neckline—with which, actually, she’d discovered she couldn’t wear a bra—was suitable for a family occasion? It looked as if she were wearing her underwear, she fretted. And although the striped black-and-cream skirt that went with it was long, it was also slit almost to her waist.
She groaned. The cheesecloth dress she’d originally chosen would have looked so much more appropriate. But so much more middle-aged, as her daughter had said.
And with Melissa behaving uncharacteristically well, Helen had been loath to rock the boat. She didn’t know what had happened the day before but evidently Milos’s sister had exerted a positive influence over her and, like the black lipstick two days ago, the black nail varnish had also disappeared. Melissa’s hair was still streaked with green, of course, but she’d washed the styling wax out of it so that it no longer stuck out in all directions.
Consequently, Helen had felt she was walking on eggshells when Sam had taken them shopping in Aghios Petros this morning. After Milos’s attitude when he’d brought her daughter home, she’d wanted nothing to renew the antagonism there had been between her and Melissa before they’d left England. The girl hadn’t wanted to come here and sometimes Helen thought she’d been right.
The trouble was, these days it was almost impossible to think about Melissa without associating her with Milos. She hadn’t realised the likeness between them would be so pronounced. She suffered agonies of self-doubt when Melissa said how easy he was to talk to, and her reasons for keeping the girl’s identity a secret seemed spurious and selfish.
He deserved to know the truth, she thought, and had he been an employee of her father’s it would have been so much easier to bear. But he wasn’t. He was a wealthy man with unlimited resources; resources he might easily use to convince a judge of her unsuitability as a mother when she’d lied to both her daughter and the man who’d fathered her.
Would a court take into account the fact that she had been only seventeen when Milos had slept with her? He’d seemed so charming, so sincere, that she’d been totally overwhelmed. Her mother hadn’t trusted him, but Helen hadn’t listened to her. She’d secretly agreed to meet him for a drink and that had sealed her fate.
In fairness to herself, she had to acknowledge that Milos’s connection to her father had swung the balance in his favour. She’d been so eager for news of him. In the months since her parents’ divorce, she’d regretted not giving Sam a second chance, and she’d been open to any appeal on his behalf.
And if Milos had done what her father had asked him to do and just pleaded his cause, things would have been so different. There’d have been no crazy infatuation on her part, no studied seduction on his.
Instead, Milos’s visit had set her relationship with her father back a dozen years or more. Once her daughter had been born, there’d been no going back. She’d been married to Richard Shaw and her future had been set.
She shivered now, swallowing the unwilling anticipation she was feeling at the knowledge that soon she’d be seeing Milos again. The day before, he’d only stayed long enough to offer Sam his apologies, making the excuse that he had work to do at home. But this evening there was to be a buffet dinner in honour of herself and Melissa, and naturally Maya had prevailed upon him to join them.
All day, the delicious smells of cooking food had pervaded the villa. Not that Maya was doing the actual cooking herself. Sam had confided that several women from the nearby village had come to supplement their small staff, and Helen’s offer to help had been politely—but conspicuously—declined.
Which was how she and Melissa had been able to go shopping with Sam that morning. It had given them both the chance to supplement their meagre wardrobes—Helen had brought little from home, believing her father to be dying—and even Melissa had shown an unaccustomed interest in buying clothes.
Now, as Helen leant towards the mirror to apply a bronze glaze to her eyelids Melissa appeared in the bathroom doorway behind her. Helen saw the girl’s reflection before she saw the girl herself and it gave her time to school her expression before Melissa noticed.
She didn’t want to appear too enthusiastic about her daughter’s appearance. That had always been the way to turn her off. But it was hard to be offhand when Melissa looked so attractive. The sleeveless cotton dress was perfect, and lime green was definitely her colour.
To her relief, the girl’s attention was immediately caught by what Helen was wearing and a triumphant expression appeared on her face. ‘Do I know how to choose gear or do I know how to choose gear?’ she crowed delightedly. ‘God, Mum, you look really hot! And at least ten years younger than you would have done in that sack you’d chosen for yourself.’
Helen glanced down at herself. ‘You don’t think this outfit is too—young for me?’ she asked uncertainly, and Melissa snorted.
‘Stop stressing, Mum,’ she said. ‘You look great. Milos i
s going to be well impressed.’
Helen caught her breath. ‘I’m not trying to impress anybody,’ she protested. ‘Least of all Milos Stephanides.’ She hesitated. ‘I just don’t want to look like a—a—’ the word ‘tart’ hovered on her tongue, but she couldn’t say that without offending her daughter ‘—like a teenager.’
‘With your boobs? You wish.’ Melissa grimaced. ‘Come on. I’m wearing what you wanted, the least you can do is do the same.’
Which said everything, thought Helen, resigning herself to her fate. And Melissa did look nice, if older than her mother could have wished. As they went down the stone staircase Helen couldn’t help wondering if it wouldn’t have been safer for both of them if Melissa had maintained her ‘goth’ image.
It was almost dark when they stepped outside, following the buzz of voices from the terrace. A velvet dusk had fallen and strings of coloured bulbs suspended from the trees gave the scene a magical illumination.
Already a small crowd of people were gathered, laughing and talking and exchanging gossip that Helen couldn’t hope to understand. It was obvious they all knew one another and they didn’t need the drinks her father was generously dispensing to loosen their tongues.
She saw Maya first, looking happy for once, with Sam on one side of her and Alex on the other. But Helen’s eyes were instantly drawn to the tall man standing right beside them, his dark features rendered positively sinister in the shadowy light.
But she wasn’t allowed to carry this thought to its logical conclusion. Her father had seen them and he came eagerly towards them, his gaunt face alight with obvious approval.
‘You look—you both look splendid,’ he said, catching one of their hands in each of his, and Helen noticed that Melissa didn’t bridle at his enthusiasm. ‘You don’t know how proud I am to have you here with me at last.’
‘Mum looks good, doesn’t she?’ Melissa asked slyly, indifferent to their audience. ‘I chose this outfit. Do you like it?’
Helen wanted to shrink into the woodwork, but Sam wasn’t at all perturbed. ‘I do,’ he said. ‘You’ve got taste, little one. But, you know, your mother’s a beautiful woman.’
