Читать книгу Memories Of The Past - Кэрол Мортимер, Carole Mortimer - Страница 5

CALEB JONES. How on earth could Helen have guessed that was Caleb Jones?

She had questioned her father’s certainty on the man she had met at the roadside’s possibly being Caleb Jones, describing him in great detail, only to have her father insist it had been him, that the adorable toddler was definitely the nephew he was guardian to.

The man she had met hadn’t looked thirty-nine, early thirties at the most, and he hadn’t appeared anything like the cynically hardened businessman she had expected. She couldn’t even imagine him in a suit and tie, and his hair was far too long to be considered ‘respectable’! But he had been resident on the estate most of the last six months, so that could possibly account for the untidiness of the latter.

But even so, it was hard to imagine that man with the overlong black hair, unlined face and muscled body as anything but the labourer she had first taken him to be.

And he was coming here to dinner tonight, before she had even had the chance to talk to her father about his idea of selling Cherry Trees!

Not that she doubted for a moment that the ploy had been deliberate on her father’s part, at least. He had been deliberately evasive on the subject since her arrival, carrying her case upstairs for her and insisting she must feel in need of a shower after her journey. She did feel hot and sticky, but the shower could have waited for a while, except that her father obviously had other ideas.

She could already tell he was going to be at his most stubborn this weekend!

Which was precisely why she had got herself ready for dinner early; she was determined she would talk to her father about selling the house before Caleb Jones arrived.

He was in the lounge pouring himself a pre-dinner drink when she got downstairs, as she had known he would be. There was nothing her father enjoyed more than half an hour or so’s leisurely relaxation with a glass of good whisky before he was due to eat.

He looked surprised to see Helen down so early, although there was none of the censure in his eyes for what she was wearing that there had been earlier. The classic plain black dress that moved silkily about her body as she walked was one of her father’s favourites. And she knew that, but if he wanted to play at being devious so would she!

She had styled her hair in a much softer style for him too, soft curls piled loosely on top of her head, several loose tendrils on her forehead and cheeks framing her face.

‘A definite improvement.’ He stood up to pour Helen a sherry, eyeing her mischievously. ‘Cal will like the change too, I’m sure.’

She bristled angrily. ‘I really don’t care what Mr Jones likes, as I’m sure you well know,’ she reproved, accepting her sherry and sitting down in an armchair. ‘And the reason I looked the way that I did when I arrived was because I had been to work this morning and drove straight down here from the office.’ And her father was one of the few people she would ever have bothered to explain herself to in this way.

But then, he had obviously known her all her life, and it was a little difficult to stand on your dignity with someone who had changed your nappies for you as a baby, seen you with your two front teeth missing, reassured you that those detested freckles on your nose would disappear one day—although he had been wrong about that—comforted you through your first bout of unrequited love!

He made himself comfortable in the chair opposite her. ‘How is the big city?’ he drawled, his eyes still twinkling, not the clear green of Helen’s but a marvellous hazel colour that made them change from brown to green to blue. Though he was in his mid-fifties, and despite the devastating sadness of losing Helen’s mother so early in their lives together, they hadn’t lost any of their glow.

Helen eyed him derisively, not fooled for a minute. ‘The “big city” is fine,’ she returned drily. ‘And stop being evasive.’

‘Evasive?’ His eyes widened innocently. ‘Me? I don’t know what you mean.’

‘Oh, Daddy,’ she smiled wryly, ‘you really are a terrible liar.’

He gave a deep sigh, giving up all pretence. ‘It’s my house, Helen——’

‘But it’s my home,’ she cut in protestingly.

He gave her a chiding look. ‘It’s seven years since you left here; London is your home now.’

She shook her head firmly. ‘I always think of Cherry Trees as my home.’

‘Really?’ he returned drily. ‘And how many times have you visited the place during the last year, the last six months, in fact?’ His brows were raised questioningly.

Colour heightened her cheeks at the softly spoken reprimand. She had been down to the house twice in the last year, the last time being at Christmas seven months ago; if she had been here during the last six months she would have recognised the danger of Caleb Jones earlier, and perhaps have been able to put a stop to it before it got this far!

‘It’s still home, Daddy——’

‘It’s a big, rambling old house with lots of memories and the hunger for children’s laughter to fill the rooms once again,’ he cut in harshly. ‘And, as you’ve assured me on several occasions that you’ll never move from London now because it’s where your work is, that you have no intention of marrying or having children, the likelihood of your one day being able to bring my grandchildren down to visit me sometimes seems very remote!’

Helen flinched at the hard accusation in his voice. She knew her father didn’t mean to be deliberately cruel, but nevertheless his words cut into her like a barb.

‘It’s your home,’ she began firmly.

‘Cal has promised me a cottage on the estate so that I can still stay in the area,’ her father dismissed that problem.

‘Cal seems to have thought of everything, doesn’t he?’ she said tautly.

‘It’s only logical——’

‘As far as he’s concerned it’s only logical,’ Helen cut in scathingly. ‘But at the end of the day our home will have been sold and Caleb Jones will own it! It’s all very neat and tidy— in his favour.’

Her father sighed. ‘I’ve already explained that the arrangement suits me too.’

Well, it didn’t suit her! As far as she was concerned Caleb Jones had used his friendship with her father—if indeed that was really what it was—to talk him into something that would, in the long run she was sure, be completely wrong for him. Her father loved this house, and she knew he would regret leaving it almost as soon as the deed had been done.

‘We’ll see,’ she bit out tightly.

‘There’s nothing to see, Helen.’ He shook his head. ‘I’ve already made my mind up to sell the house.’

And she was here to undo it. He was being influenced by his feelings of good will towards Caleb Jones, and the other man was obviously taking advantage of that. Caleb Jones might not look like a cynically hardened businessman, but he obviously knew how to behave like one! Maybe it was that very contradiction that had made it possible for him to be so successful!

‘That will be Cal now.’ Her father beamed his pleasure as he stood up to answer the ring of the doorbell. He paused at the door. ‘I hope this is going to be a pleasant evening, Helen.’

She wished she could assure him that it would be, but they must all be aware that at best it was going to be a strain, at worst impossible. And with her father thinking so highly of Caleb Jones, and her own suspicions about the other man, it could so easily become the latter.

She could hear the murmur of the two men’s conversation out in the hallway as her father brought the other man through to the lounge, deciding she would be at less of a disadvantage if she stood up to greet their guest; she really wasn’t that tall, only five feet five inches, but the tailored clothes and neat hairstyle she wore for work gave the impression that she was much more imposing than she was. Tonight she only had the advantage of two-inch heels on her shoes, and as Caleb Jones was well over six feet tall he would still dwarf her.

She stood over by the patio doors that led out into the garden, knowing that from this position she had a clear view of Caleb Jones as he entered the room, but that the shadows in this alcove in early evening would mean it took him a few seconds to locate her.

It seemed a slightly childish move on her part, and yet as Caleb Jones stepped into the lounge ahead of her father she was glad she had taken it. The man looked devastatingly attractive in a dark lounge suit and the palest of green shirts, his dark hair brushed into some sort of order this evening, although it was still too long to be considered fashionable.

But with presence such as this man had he didn’t need to be fashionable! She could recognise that air of authority for what it was now, although she doubted that in his privileged position he very often needed to enforce it.

He came towards her unhesitatingly, not seeming to have needed to have sought her out at all, knowing where she was instinctively. ‘Miss Foster.’ He held out his hand.

‘Her name is Helen, and yours is Cal,’ her father cut in firmly.

‘Yes, please do call me Helen,’ she invited, revealing none of the disturbance she felt as her hand was taken firmly in Caleb Jones’s much larger one. His grip was firm and cool, and just long enough to be remembered. ‘May I say you’re looking slightly better now than you did this afternoon?’ she added with a softness that was designed to take some of the sting out of her words.

The man in front of her didn’t even blink at her deliberate reminder of their first meeting. ‘I feel a lot better than I did this afternoon,’ he returned evenly.

He knew of her antagonism, Helen could tell that as surely as if the words had already been spoken between them. As they surely must be some time very soon. But not in front of her father; she could already sense that this man had already decided that whatever the problem was it would be kept strictly between themselves. And that suited her just fine; she didn’t want her father upset unduly unless she could help it either.

‘And Sam?’ her father put in affectionately. ‘How is he?’

Caleb Jones’s expression softened at the mention of the baby. ‘The same little devil as usual,’ he mused. ‘He isn’t even aware of the near catastrophe he caused.’ He turned back to Helen. ‘You were right about “the great escape”, by the way. The little devil had piled his toys up in one end of his play-pen and used them to climb over the side,’ he explained.

‘He’s very bright for his age.’ Helen’s father shook his head ruefully.

And so like Caleb Jones to look at—the thought popped unbidden into Helen’s mind. And she instantly questioned it. Of course if Sam was his nephew that would explain their similarity, but there could also be a more obvious explanation. This second explanation might also explain why Caleb Jones had chosen to buy the estate in the first place and bury himself down here far away from London where his offices were. She didn’t usually have such a suspicious mind, but her ambivalent feelings towards Caleb Jones had been aroused from the first.

It would also be much easier to understand his taking on the guardianship of such a young baby if the child were his own.

She hadn’t taken too much interest in his private life when she had been making enquiries about him, except to know that he was unmarried. But that didn’t preclude his having a child, a child that he might want to protect from the public eye. Not that it was really anyone’s business but his own, and Sam was adorable…

‘Very,’ Caleb Jones agreed with her father indulgently. ‘Too bright for his own good sometimes,’ he grimaced. ‘I’m beginning to wonder which one of us is in control of the situation.’

Helen’s father chuckled. ‘Why Sam is, of course. All children are. The secret is not to let them ever realise that. I remember when Helen and——’

‘Daddy, shouldn’t you be checking on dinner?’ she cut in pointedly; the last thing she needed was her father reminiscing to this man about her childhood!

Her father gave her a knowing look, but his answer was directed towards the other man. ‘Never become a father, Cal,’ he said self-derisively, moving to the door. ‘They grow up and start treating you as if you’re the child!’

‘I think it’s a bit late for me to worry about that,’ Caleb Jones said ruefully. ‘Sam already has me taped.’

His beautiful mischievous nephew was another subject Helen would have preferred not to discuss if she could avoid it. But as her father left the room to check on their meal she knew their conversation was rather limited!

‘Would you like a drink, Mr Jones?’ she offered politely.

‘A small whisky would be fine,’ he accepted just as politely.

She moved smoothly across the room to pour the alcohol into a glass for him.

‘Are you not joining me?’ He raised dark brows enquiringly.

‘I only drink wine,’ she explained coolly. ‘And I prefer to wait until we have our meal.’

Caleb Jones lowered his long length into an armchair before taking an appreciative sip of the neat alcohol. ‘I’ve heard such a lot about you from David,’ he explained. ‘It’s good to finally meet you at last.’

Helen looked at him scathingly. ‘Is it?’

He didn’t appear in the least perturbed by her manner. ‘David obviously misses you very much,’ he nodded.

She bristled angrily at what she sensed was a softly spoken reprimand. ‘All children leave home to make a life for themselves at some time, Mr Jones,’ she snapped.

‘True,’ he acknowledged without rancour.

Helen felt extremely irritated by the way he had made her feel guilty and then dropped the subject as if it were of no real importance. And it had been too smoothly done not to have been deliberate. Those innocently wide blue eyes were definitely deceptive, and she was more sure than ever that her preconceived idea of this man as being shrewdly clever was correct.

‘How do you like——?’

‘Could we dispense with the polite conversation when my father isn’t around, Mr Jones?’ she cut in caustically. ‘We both know the reason I’m here, and polite chit-chat isn’t going to gloss over that.’

He arched dark brows. ‘I thought you were here to visit your father.’

‘And I have already had this conversation with him earlier,’ she snapped. ‘With much more effect, believe me,’ she added scornfully.

He gave an inclination of his head. ‘I’m glad to hear it.’

She drew in a controlling breath at the censure in his voice. He least of all had the right to stand in judgement of her behaviour. ‘At least my affection for my father is genuine,’ she challenged softly.

He didn’t move, not so much as a muscle, and yet Helen could feel the anger emanating from him. ‘Implying?’ he prompted tautly.

‘Implying that——’

‘Dinner is served,’ her father announced lightly as he came back into the room, his eyes narrowing shrewdly as he sensed the antagonism flowing between his daughter and his friend. ‘Let’s go and eat before it all spoils,’ he added distractedly.

He was upset by the tension between herself and the man he considered a close personal friend, Helen could tell that, and yet she couldn’t do or say anything to put his mind at rest. She didn’t trust Caleb Jones, and there was no use pretending, not even for one evening, that she did.

It couldn’t be of any comfort to her father now, but he was actually the one who had always told her to be honest in her dealings with people, polite but honest. And that was exactly what she intended being with Caleb Jones.

‘You don’t cook, Helen?’ a lightly mocking voice enquired as they all went through to the dining-room.

Her father chuckled his enjoyment, eyeing her teasingly.

‘Yes, I cook, Caleb.’ She knew the complete formality of ‘Mr Jones’ was out now that her father was back with them, but she stubbornly refused to call this man ‘Cal’. ‘But when I’m home my father insists on feeding me up; he doesn’t think I look after myself properly in London,’ she added drily.

‘And do you?’ the other man challenged softly.

Her mouth firmed. ‘As well as any person living alone,’ she bit out.

Caleb Jones nodded. ‘I’ve lived alone in London myself—it’s far from being an ideal situation.’

Helen couldn’t help wondering just how often he had actually ‘lived alone’.

But she couldn’t help sensing yet another underlying criticism. ‘It may have escaped your notice, Caleb,’ she snapped, ‘But there aren’t too many vacancies for accountants in a rural area like this one!’

Once again he appeared unruffled by her vehemence. ‘Strange you should mention that…’ he murmured thoughtfully.

Helen didn’t see anything in the least strange about it. This was a country area, with one or two small towns nearby, but none of them possessed the sort of company she wanted to be associated with. Up until now her father had always accepted that the move to London was necessary for the advancement of her career. She would not appreciate it if this man had been putting other ideas into his mind!

Her eyes flashed her anger. ‘I don’t see anything strange about it——’

‘Oh, I didn’t mean strangely odd,’ Caleb Jones cut in smoothly. ‘I meant what a strange coincidence; I’m looking for an accountant at the moment—in fact I’m going to start seeing people concerning that this week.’

Helen stared at him. ‘You want an accountant working down here with you?’

He nodded. ‘I spend most of my time here now, and rather than move all my staff and offices down here—which wouldn’t please them, I’m sure—I thought a personal-assistant-cum-accountant liaising between here and London would be the perfect answer to the problem,’ he explained lightly.

Helen had become more and more tense as he spoke, turning slowly now to look at her father, sure from his innocent expression—and his friendship with Caleb Jones—that he had known of the vacancy long before now.

And that too-innocent expression gave her a deep feeling of unease.

Surely her father hadn’t expected her to be interested in applying for the job!