A Woman of Passion Page 6

  ‘I hope you don’t mind me ringing, old man,’ Andrew exclaimed jovially. ‘My lady wife insisted that I call and put the record straight. The young lady you saw me with yesterday wasn’t Mrs Sheridan. She’s our nanny, actually. It was all a rather bad joke.’

  Matthew didn’t make the mistake of admitting his knowledge this time. ‘No problem,’ he said, unwillingly relieved that Helen apparently hadn’t mentioned their encounter on the beach. And then, untruthfully, ‘I never gave it another thought. Whoever she was, she seemed to have her hands full.’

  ‘Well, yes.’ Andrew sighed. ‘I’m afraid Henry and Sophie are something of a handful for her. Poor Helen hasn’t had a lot of experience. We may have to let her go if something like that happens again.’

  Matthew felt unreasonably resentful on her behalf. ‘I doubt if anyone could have coped any better,’ he declared coolly. ‘Perhaps if she hadn’t had to bring the children to the airport in the first place, there wouldn’t have been a problem.’ He paused. ‘Is your wife an invalid, Sheridan? I’m just wondering why they didn’t stay with her, when the little girl obviously suffers from car sickness.’

  Andrew Sheridan was unnaturally silent for a moment, and Matthew hoped that he was offended. He had no desire to get involved with any of the Sheridans, and, despite his instinctive defence of her, the less he saw of their nanny the better.

  ‘So, in your opinion, it was just a chapter of accidents,’ Andrew said at last, and Matthew acknowledged that he’d underestimated Sheridan’s persistence. ‘I’m glad about that. Helen’s an engaging creature, isn’t she? I wouldn’t like to dismiss her, when she’s had such a lot of bad luck.’

  The desire to ask what bad luck he was talking about was pressing, but Matthew contained himself with difficulty. It had been said for just that reason, to inspire his curiosity, and after this morning’s little fiasco he was not about to bite.

  ‘Anyway,’ Andrew went on, when it became obvious that Matthew wasn’t going to fall for that line, ‘I didn’t ring to discuss the merits—or otherwise—of the children’s nursemaid. No, I’m ringing to ask you and your—well, partner—to have drinks with us tomorrow evening. What do you say?’

  ‘Oh, I—’ Matthew was on the point of refusing when the image of an indignant woman, with misty grey eyes and sun-streaked hair, swam before his eyes. In spite of the anger she had aroused in him, he was not averse to giving her a taste of her own medicine. After all, she’d accused him of neglecting his wife, just because she’d seen him with Fleur at the airport. It might be amusing to take Fleur with him, just to see how she responded to that.

  ‘I know you must be a busy man,’ Andrew added, obviously aware of Matthew’s ambivalence, ‘but we would appreciate the chance to make amends. And I know Trish would love to meet you. She’s admired your house so often on her walks along the beach.’

  Matthew hesitated. ‘Well—’

  But his mind was already made up. It would amuse Fleur, he knew, and get her off his back for a couple of hours. Besides which, he was in a mood for action. His doubts about Chase’s death had only fuelled his sense of guilt…

  CHAPTER FIVE

  HELEN stood in her bedroom, trying to calm her nerves. Ever since Andrew had told her that Chase Aitken and his ‘partner’ were coming for drinks this evening, she had been in a state bordering on panic, and it wasn’t getting any better.

  It was all very well telling herself that her mother hadn’t recognised her, and therefore she had no reason for her anxiety—but it didn’t work. What if either Tricia or Andrew used her surname? Combined with her age and appearance, wasn’t the coincidence just too great?

  She felt sick, too, but that was mostly hunger. She’d hardly eaten a thing since lunchtime the previous day. As soon as Andrew had dropped his bombshell her throat had closed up and her appetite had vanished. She was afraid of what might happen, and nothing could alter that.

  Yet she had nothing to be ashamed of. She hadn’t abandoned her husband and small daughter and taken off with a man who was far too young for her. Oh, she knew there were no hard and fast rules about relationships. She’d even heard of cases where an older woman and a younger man were very happy together. But not at the expense of their families; not when they had children to leave behind…

  Damn her, she thought painfully. Damn Fleur, and damn Chase Aitken. Why had it had to be him who came to her assistance at the airport? Why couldn’t it have been some stranger, instead of her mother’s playboy lover?

  Of course, she might be able to avoid them. Tricia hadn’t invited her to join them, but that might be because she expected her to do so anyway. In London things had been different. Then Helen had only joined her employer for supper if Andrew Sheridan had been out of town. But since arriving in Barbados there’d been no lines of demarcation, and although the first night Andrew arrived she’d managed to evade their company, last night she hadn’t been so lucky.

  Privately, she suspected they found an undiluted diet of one another’s company boring. They seldom dined alone at home, and when they went out it was always with friends. Tricia said they were sociable animals, but Helen suspected that without diversion their marriage might not survive.

  Which didn’t help her, she thought now, slapping away one of the annoying sandflies that had found its way into her bedroom. Could she pretend to have another headache? She didn’t think Andrew would believe her. But surely Tricia wouldn’t care, when she was getting her own way about Chase Aitken.

  ‘Helen…’

  A sleepy voice from the doorway alerted her to the fact that Sophie, at least, had not settled down after her day in the sun. The little girl’s face was flushed, and Helen guessed she had been taking her hat off again. Neither child liked wearing headgear, but the heat made protection essential.

  ‘What is it?’ Helen asked now, thinking how adorable the little girl looked in her frilly baby-doll pyjamas. ‘You’re supposed to be fast asleep.’

  ‘I’m thirsty,’ said Sophie, pleading the perennial excuse of children everywhere. ‘And Henry’s got Matilda, and he won’t give her back.’

  ‘Oh, dear,’ Abandoning any thought of dressing for the evening, Helen pulled a baggy T-shirt over her shorts and accompanied the little girl back to the children’s bedroom.

  Henry was pretending to be asleep, clutching the rag doll that Sophie had had since she was a baby. Matilda, as she called her, was very old now, and a little tatty, but she went everywhere with her, and especially to bed.

  Walking into the adjoining bathroom, Helen got Sophie a glass of water and then approached Henry’s bed. The little boy’s eyelids were tightly closed, but their twitching gave him away. However, it suited her purposes to pretend she believed him, and, whisking Matilda out of his grasp, she handed her to Sophie.

  Henry’s eyes opened at once, but Helen was already tucking his sister into bed. ‘I thought you were asleep,’ she said innocently. ‘And you’d forgotten to give back Sophie’s doll. But if you’d lite a doll of your own, I’ll tell your mother. I’m sure we could find you one in town.’

  Henry’s jaw jutted. ‘I don’t want a doll,’ he said sulkily. ‘I’m not a baby, like her.’

  ‘No, you’re not,’ said Helen. ‘So don’t behave like one. Now, I don’t want any more nonsense tonight.’

  Henry pursed his lips, but then evidently decided it wasn’t worth his while to make threats. Instead, he looked at Helen slyly. ‘Is that what you’re wearing for supper?’ he asked. ‘That man and woman are already here. Did you know?’

  Helen’s stomach hollowed. She hadn’t known. But then, that wasn’t so surprising. Her room faced away from the terrace, where the Sheridans were no doubt entertaining their guests.

  ‘Oh—I expect I’ll have supper in my room,’ she declared offhandedly, assuming an difference she was far from feeling. ‘Now—you two settle down. If you’re quiet, and still awake when I come back, I may just read you a story.’

  ‘Honestly?’r />
  Henry sounded pleased, but she could see he was having difficulty in keeping his eyes open. As for Sophie, she was already on the edge of sleep, and Helen felt a reassuring sense of pride in her achievement. After all, four months ago she hadn’t known the difference between pre-schoolers and toddlers. Now, she could prepare nursery meals, mop up every kind of mishap and handle childish tantrums without hesitation. To all intents and purposes, she was their guardian, and while she might still have reservations she liked her work.

  She was closing the children’s bedroom door when she turned to find Andrew behind her. For an awful moment, she thought it was Chase Aitken, and her face turned quite pale in the lamplight.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  Whatever Andrew had been going to say, he’d noticed her sudden pallor, and she scrubbed her hands across her cheeks to produce some spurious colour. ‘You—you startled me, that’s all,’ she said quickly. ‘I was just getting Sophie a drink.’

  ‘And then you’re going to join us, right?’ he essayed smoothly. His eyes twinkled. ‘Though not in shorts and a T-shirt. I don’t think Trish would approve.’

  Helen caught her lower lip between her teeth. ‘I don’t think your guests are interested in meeting me,’ she said carefully. Her hand went instinctively to her hair. ‘I’m sure they’ll be gone before I can put on a dress.’

  ‘Don’t you believe it.’ Andrew was in annoyingly high spirits. ‘I’ve invited them for supper. Now, hurry up and get ready.’

  Helen felt indignant. Apart from anything else, now that Henry and Sophie were settled for the night, the Sheridans really had no right to order her movements. Besides, the idea of going out there and facing her mother was not something she wanted to anticipate.

  ‘I’m tired,’ she said, aware that although she’d washed her hair that morning her braid was less than tidy now. Strands of honey-blonde silk were nudging her ear-lobes, and there was a definite fringe of moistness at her nape.

  ‘We’re all tired, Helen,’ said Andrew, his tone a little less conciliatory now. ‘Don’t be difficult. Aitken has already asked where you are this evening. I don’t want everyone thinking that we treat you like some latter-day Cinderella.’

  Helen sighed. ‘They won’t do that.’

  ‘No, they won’t. Because you’re going to wash your face and hands and come and meet our guests. For heaven’s sake, Helen, I thought you’d be amused. It’s not as if you lead an active social life. Make the most of it while you can.’

  Helen’s jaw trembled. ‘And if I don’t?’

  Andrew’s expression hardened. ‘Well, no one can force you,’ he drawled. ‘I’ll tell Trish you’re tired, shall I? I’m sure she’ll be sympathetic.’

  Helen was equally sure that she wouldn’t. And Andrew knew that, damn him. That was why he’d said it. The next step was to ask her if she thought she really had the stamina to do the job she was employed to do. And, although she was sure it wouldn’t be easy for them to find her replacement here, she couldn’t take that chance.

  ‘I’ll be ready in fifteen minutes,’ she mumbled, brushing past him to reach the door of her room, but he was determined to have his pound of flesh.

  ‘What did you say?’ he asked, though she was sure he’d heard her. And when she repeated it, her face flushed and mutinous, he smiled. ‘Oh, good. I knew you’d change your mind. But make it ten minutes, will you? You don’t want to miss all the fun.’

  Helen closed her door in his triumphant face, wishing she wasn’t such a coward. But, whatever happened, she still had a living to earn. However afraid—apprehensive—of facing her mother she might be, she couldn’t afford to lose her job over it.

  All the same, she viewed the contents of her wardrobe with some misgivings. What did you wear to meet the mother you hadn’t seen for eighteen years? She had no desire for Fleur to think she was competing with her. But, the fact remained, her pride wouldn’t let her dress without restraint.

  She finally settled on a long-waisted, button-through voile with a flared hem. The dress almost reached her ankles, but the buttons ended at her knees, leaving a provocative opening that made walking that much easier. The pattern of tiny blue and green flowers on a cream ground was attractive, and with a V-neck and elbowlength sleeves, it was neither too casual nor too formal.

  She brushed her hair and plaited it again for coolness, scraping it back from her face with a determined hand. The style made her look plain, she thought, unaware that her delicate features could never be deemed severe. Instead, the fine veins at her temple were exposed, and the sensitive curve of her neck.

  A flick of mascara and an application of a plum-coloured lip-gloss completed her preparations, and she stepped back from her mirror with a quickening heart. She was as ready as she’d ever be, she thought, wetting her lips deliberately. She didn’t think she resembled her mother, but time would tell.

  She wasn’t wearing any tights, and, stepping into high-heeled sandals, she gave her room a wistful look. What she wouldn’t give to be spending the evening incommunicado. Tricia should have warned her that she wanted a slave, not an employee.

  She heard voices as she approached the terrace—well, Andrew’s and Tricia’s voices, anyway, she conceded, wondering what Chase Aitken really thought of his hosts for the evening. She’d been absolutely amazed when Tricia had told her he’d accepted their invitation. She’d had the feeling at the airport that he resented people like them.

  It was a beautiful evening. Barbados was lucky in that it had few annoying insects, and it was perfectly acceptable to serve a meal outside, even after dark. With that in mind, Tricia had had Maria set a table on the terrace, and flickering Spanish lanterns added intimacy to the scene.

  To avoid looking at the group of people gathered around the drinks trolley, Helen paid particular attention to the table. A centrepiece of ivory orchids and scarlet hibiscus looked wonderful against white linen, the dark green leaves contrasting richly with the carefully chosen blooms.

  Tall crystal glasses gave back a multitude of colours in the candlelight, and neatly folded napkins were set at every place. Six places, Helen was noticing curiously, when Andrew looked round and saw her.

  ‘At last,’ he said, and for all his suave smile Helen knew he wasn’t suited. ‘Our dear nanny has chosen to join us. Perhaps now we can have some food.’

  ‘Drew,’ reproved Tricia, with an apologetic smile for their guests. ‘Ask Helen what she’d like to drink.’ But she looked the younger woman over rather critically, and Helen had the feeling she wasn’t pleased either.

  ‘Hello, again.’

  Chase Aitken’s low, attractive drawl forced Helen to acknowledge the other people present. But she didn’t look at him, or at the third female in the group. Instead, she allowed her gaze to alight on someone she didn’t know. A stocky, fair man with glasses, who was none the less familiar.

  ‘What would you like, Helen?’ Andrew was asking, and glad of a moment’s grace she pretended to give the matter some thought.

  ‘Oh—um, a glass of white wine, please,’ she said, aware that both Chase and Fleur were watching her. Her mouth dried in nervous anticipation as Tricia came with evident reluctance to perform the introductions.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ she said, and Helen was obliged to meet Chase’s dark appraising eyes. ‘Of course, you’ve met, haven’t you? But, Fleur—this is our saviour. Helen—this is Mrs Aitken.’

  He’d lied!

  That was the first thing that came into Helen’s mind as she turned to the colourfully-dressed female at his side. Chase was all in black—an appropriate choice for him, she thought—but, in a floral chiffon gown and incredibly high heels, Fleur looked like a bird of paradise beside a hawk. Her hair, which had once been a similar colour to Helen’s, was tinted a pale silvery shade, and tied back with a scarf that matched her outfit. The ends were loose and flowing, and trailed seductively across her bare shoulder.

  Helen swallowed. When she’d seen her mother at the airp
ort it had been from a distance. She hadn’t been able to see the ravages time had wrought. But it was obvious that Fleur had had at least one face-lift, and her skin had lost the dewy freshness of youth.

  Even so, her mother looked totally at ease in these surroundings. As well she might, thought Helen bitterly, if the house she had glimpsed from the beach was anything to go on. The Sheridans’ villa was modest in comparison. Andrew might be well off, but he couldn’t compete in Chase Aitken’s league.

  But such considerations were just a way of avoiding the inevitable. She couldn’t believe she was standing just an arm’s length from the woman who had borne her. The fact that Tricia hadn’t used her surname wasn’t important. Couldn’t Fleur see she was her daughter? Surely she must?

  Evidently not.

  ‘How do you do?’

  Fleur was holding out a languid hand, and Helen had, perforce, to take it. But she drew her hand away again with some aversion—an aversion she hoped wasn’t evident to anyone else but her.

  ‘I must say, I think you’re awfully lucky to be working in such lovely surroundings,’ Fleur continued, apparently noticing nothing amiss. ‘Believe me, not all employers are so generous. And working with children must be rather nice.’

  How would you know?

  Helen wanted to say the words out loud, but common sense—cowardice—kept her silent. Besides, did she really want to have anything to do with the woman? Revealing her identity to her could only hurt herself.

  ‘And I’m Lucas,’ said the man Helen had thought she recognised, evidently getting impatient with the delay. He drew her attention away from the others and shook her hand warmly. ‘I’m Matt’s personal dogsbody, for want of a better word.’

  Helen frowned. Matt? But Lucas was speaking again, and she had no time to give it any attention. ‘I saw you at the airport, too.’ His eyes twinkled behind his glasses. ‘Just from a distance, I’m afraid.’