‘Anyway, he said you knew all about it,’ Helen put in, addressing herself to Rhea. ‘He sends his apologies for not saying goodbye.’
Rhea nodded, her eyes still thoughtful. ‘He’s attending a conference about reducing oil pollution,’ she said absently. Then, ‘Did he have time to bring you back?’
‘No. Stelios did that.’
But Helen didn’t want to think about that now. It was enough to know that she could still smell the pool water on her body, could still feel the possessive touch of Milos’s hands, Milos’s mouth. What must he have thought when she’d scuttled into the cabana and pulled on her clothes without even taking a shower? What was she supposed to make of the look on his face when he was forced to bid her a public goodbye?
Shaking off the remembrance, she tried to speak casually. ‘I—er—I suppose we should be going, too.’
‘But we haven’t had lunch,’ objected Melissa at once, turning to Rhea for support. ‘You said Marisa would have everything ready.’
‘And I meant it.’ Rhea seemed to gather herself, putting out a hand towards Helen as if in apology. ‘My mother’s housekeeper will be most offended if you deny her the chance to show off her culinary skills,’ she insisted. But Helen was still left wondering if she truly wanted them to stay.
‘Well …’
She hesitated, and Melissa took the chance to speak again. ‘Come on, Mum,’ she persisted. ‘It’s not as if you’ve got anything else to do.’
Which was true, Helen admitted silently. Now that Milos had left the island, she didn’t have to worry about him turning up unexpectedly. She ought to have been feeling relieved that he was gone. But all she really felt was defeated.
‘All right,’ she said at last, earning herself a delighted whoop from Melissa. Her father was expecting them to stay, after all, and it would save a lot of unnecessary explanations.
And, in spite of her reluctance, the visit was not so bad. She’d expected to find it hard to talk to Milos’s sister, but she didn’t. The girl had evidently decided it wasn’t Helen’s fault that her brother had deserted them, and over a meal of stuffed vine leaves, a crisp green salad, and a sticky sweet dessert, she made an effort to be friendly.
She told Helen about the course she was taking at college and her plans to set up her own interior-decorating business as soon as she graduated. Her father had agreed to finance her for the first year, and Helen thought how lucky Rhea was to have such loving and supportive parents.
It made her wonder if she’d have felt differently about her own situation if she hadn’t cut her father out of her life. Would he have recommended that she marry Richard if she’d confided her pregnancy to him? Of course, her mother had been concerned about what other people were going to think when they discovered Helen was unmarried and expecting a baby. She’d never really got over the gossip that had ensued when Sam had walked out.
Of course, if her father hadn’t walked out, Helen would never have met Milos Stephanides. She’d never have found herself pregnant with a baby whose father’s identity she’d kept secret even from her mother …
‘Where are you going?’
Sheila Campbell turned from the television when Helen appeared in the sitting-room doorway. She was obviously surprised to see her daughter dressed and ready to go out when she’d said nothing about having a date earlier in the day.
‘I’m going to meet Sally at the coffee bar,’ said Helen quickly, mouthing the first lie that came into her head. She had thought of making Richard, her current boyfriend, her excuse, but her mother was bound to ask Richard about it later on and she couldn’t have that.
‘Sally? Sally who?’ Sheila frowned, and Helen wished her mother were not so interested in everything she did.
‘Sally Phillips,’ she said, hoping she sounded convincing. ‘You don’t know her. She’s in my English tutor group.’
‘Oh?’ Sheila shrugged and turned back to the television. ‘Well, don’t forget it’s a school night. I shall expect you home before half past ten.’
‘Oh, Mum!’ Helen gave a resigned sigh. ‘I’m not a child, you know.’
‘But you are still a student. And I don’t have time to haul you out of bed in the morning.’ She sniffed. ‘In any case, I thought you told me you preferred to see Richard at weekends.’
‘I do.’ Helen was indignant. ‘And I’m not meeting Richard Shaw. As I say, I’m going to the coffee bar. Is that all right?’
‘Do I have a choice?’ Sheila was dismissive. ‘Oh, go on. Enjoy your evening. But don’t you miss the last bus home.’
‘I won’t,’ said Helen guiltily, wondering if Milos would bring her back to her door. Well, to the end of the street, anyway, she amended, feeling again the frisson of excited anticipation she’d felt since she’d agreed to have a drink with him.
They were meeting in the bar of his hotel and Helen wondered if she’d been entirely wise in agreeing to that. But at least she could be reasonably sure she wouldn’t see anyone she knew at the Cathay Intercontinental. The rates there were phenomenally high. Or so she’d always believed.
She just hoped that what she was wearing wouldn’t look totally out of place. She would have liked to have worn her new slip dress and the suede jacket she’d been saving up for for ages, but that would have been foolish and she knew it. The last thing she wanted was for her mother to become suspicious, so the tight-fitting jeans and black parka would have to do. But she had put on the purple silk shirt her mother had bought her for her last birthday under the parka, away from Sheila’s prying gaze.
Which made her feel really sneaky and she didn’t like it. She was no better than her father, she thought, keeping secrets from her mother.
But when she walked into the foyer of the Cathay Intercontinental and found Milos standing near the entrance waiting for her, she was selfishly glad she had deceived her. He looked so good in his dark suit and turtle-neck sweater, and she could hardly believe this gorgeous hunk was waiting for her.
But he was. He came towards her at once, his dark disturbing eyes making her whole body feel hot and alive. She tried to tell herself it was natural for him to look at a woman in that way. But there was something intensely personal in the melting heat of his gaze.
‘Hi,’ he said softly, and, although he made no attempt to touch her, Helen felt as if his hands had stroked over every inch of her skin. ‘I’m glad you came. I wondered if you would. I was afraid your mother would change your mind.’
‘She doesn’t know I’m here.’
Her denial was instinctive, and she thought how pathetic she must sound to a man like him. Dear God, he would think she didn’t have a mind or a will of her own. Or that she was scared to tell her mother something she knew she wouldn’t like.
Milos’s lips compressed. ‘So where does she think you are?’ he inquired, and Helen shifted somewhat unhappily beneath his curious stare.
‘At the coffee bar,’ she said quickly. Then, ‘I suppose you think I’m stupid, not telling her where I was going.’
Milos shook his head. ‘I think it was probably very wise,’ he said drily. ‘I got the distinct impression that your mother didn’t like me.’
Helen gave a rueful smile. ‘She has reason, don’t you think?’
‘Because I’ve invited you to have a drink with me?’ he asked. ‘Surely that’s not so unforgivable. I want to get to know you better. I’m hoping we can be friends.’
Friends?
Helen let that go, but she was under no illusion that her mother would ever allow