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 is 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.’
Helen blushed at this, and before Melissa could say anything else to embarrass her Sam drew them both forward. ‘Come,’ he said. ‘These people are all dying to meet you. Let me introduce you.’
To Helen’s relief, most of the guests spoke at least a smattering of English and, as Sam had said, they were all eager to meet her. Sam had evidently told them that she was a widow and she was offered frequent condolences for her sad loss.
Milos’s sister was there and, after meeting Rhea, Helen could understand why Melissa liked her so much. It might also explain why her daughter was on her best behaviour, but Helen was too relieved to look too hard for explanations.
Alex was a familiar face, and after Sam returned to the bar he seemed to appoint himself her protector. ‘You will have realised by now that we Greeks are always happy to have an excuse for a party,’ he said drily. ‘But I’m so happy for Sam. I know how much he’s missed you all these years.’
‘I’ve missed him, too,’ murmured Helen, only now realising how much she had done so. Then, with a frown, ‘You must have been very young when your mother and—and my father got together.’
‘I was ten,’ agreed Alex with a nod. ‘Although I call your father Sam, he’s always been like a father to me.’
‘I’m sure.’
Helen