Sleeping With A Stranger. Anne Mather

mouth tightened at the news. ‘I don’t think she wants us here.’

      Sam shook his head, his impatience evident now. ‘It’s not her call,’ he said. ‘This is my house, not hers.’ He pushed nervous hands deep into the pockets of his cotton trousers. ‘I have to ask: does my deception make a difference?’

      Helen lifted slim shoulders. ‘It does, of course. But I don’t know how I feel.’ She saw Melissa watching her and went on carefully, ‘Perhaps we ought to take one day at a time.’

      ‘Would you have come if I hadn’t pretended to be ill?’ he demanded fiercely and Helen had to admit that the answer was probably no. And, as if he was able to read her thoughts, he went on, ‘So now you know why I did it.’

      ‘I suppose so.’

      He took a deep breath then, glancing up and down the hall outside. ‘Look,’ he said. ‘I’m sure you’re tired. You’d like a rest.’ He frowned. ‘Have you had anything to eat?’

      ‘We had some coffee.’

      ‘But nothing to eat?’ Her father nodded and glanced at his watch. ‘Okay. It’s nearly half past ten. Why don’t I have Sofia bring you some rolls and some fresh coffee? Then you can relax until lunchtime.’

      ‘That sounds good to me.’ Helen glanced at Melissa. ‘What do you think?’

      ‘Well, I don’t want to rest,’ said Melissa with her usual perversity. She looked at her grandfather. ‘Can’t I go with you?’

      ‘Melissa!’

      Helen was about to object when Sam Campbell said, ‘Why not?’ A smile warmed his rather austere features. ‘If your mother doesn’t mind.’

      Helen could think of no reason why Melissa shouldn’t go with him. ‘Um—no,’ she murmured. And then another thought occurred to her. ‘Is Milos still here?’

      Melissa rolled her eyes again at this, but thankfully her grandfather didn’t see her. ‘No, he’s gone,’ he said, suddenly more cheerful. ‘Okay, Melissa, I’ll give you the guided tour, eh? And introduce you to Alex.’

      ‘Alex?’

      Both Helen and her daughter spoke in unison and once again a momentary hesitation crossed his face. ‘Alex. Alex Campbell,’ he said with some reluctance. ‘Maya’s son.’

      Melissa came back before lunch, full of herself and of the things she’d seen.

      ‘This is some place, Mum,’ she exclaimed, flinging herself onto Helen’s bed with a complete disregard for the silk coverlet. ‘Did you know they make wine here as well as grow the grapes?’

      Helen hadn’t known that but she was quite content to let Melissa tell her all about it. Having spent the morning unpacking both her suitcase and Melissa’s backpack and taking a shower, she felt much more optimistic about the trip. If it helped to show her daughter there was more to life than skipping school and hanging about on street corners with kids whose main pastimes were smoking pot and shoplifting, she’d be more than happy.

      A vain hope, perhaps, but at least it was a beginning and Melissa seemed to have enjoyed herself.

      ‘He took me down to the mill,’ she said, tugging on the rings that circled her ear with a careless finger. ‘It was good. He let me taste some of the wine they’d made last year.’

      ‘Really?’ Helen restrained herself from saying that drinking wine at her age and at this hour of the morning wasn’t very sensible. ‘So what was it like?’

      ‘The wine? Okay, I guess.’ Melissa didn’t sound impressed. ‘I don’t think I’m going to be an alcoholic.’

      Helen breathed a little easier. ‘That’s a relief.’

      ‘Why?’ Melissa looked at her from beneath lowered lids. ‘Are you afraid I’m gonna take after Richard?’

      ‘No.’

      ‘Good.’ Melissa looked as if she wanted to say something more and then thought better of it. ‘Anyway, Sam treats me like my opinion matters. I like that.’

      I bet, thought Helen, but all she said was, ‘Did he tell you to call him Sam?’

      ‘No.’ Now Melissa pouted a bit. ‘But I can’t call him Granddad, can I?’

      Helen acknowledged that might be a stretch. ‘I guess not. So—did you meet Alex?’

      ‘Oh, sure.’ Melissa was annoyingly casual. ‘But to begin with, I had some breakfast. He was going to take me on a tour of the house,’ she added, ‘but Maya kept complaining we were getting in her way, so we got in the Jeep and went down to the mill.’

      ‘I see.’

      ‘That’s when I met Alex.’ Melissa’s lips quirked. ‘He’s cool.’

      Cool? Helen couldn’t help herself. She was curious. ‘You liked him?’

      ‘What’s not to like? At least he was friendly.’

      ‘He speaks English?’

      ‘Yeah.’

      ‘So—how old is he?’

      Melissa was deliberately obtuse. ‘Older than me.’

      ‘Melissa!’

      ‘Oh, okay.’ Melissa rumpled her hair. ‘He’s not your brother, if that’s what’s worrying you. He’s twenty-six. Maya was like you. She was only seventeen when Alex was born.’

      It was a couple of days later when Milos decided to check up on Sam’s house guests.

      It wasn’t anything to do with him, he knew, but something drew him back to the vineyard. It was easy to tell himself that, as he’d collected them from the ferry, he felt some responsibility for their well being. But the truth was, Helen and her unlikely daughter intrigued him. He wanted to know more about them. He wanted to know more about her .

      Sam was having a late breakfast when he arrived. Milos guessed his friend had already been down to the winery to check on developments there, and now he was enjoying a lazy repast, seated at the table that had been laid in the shade of a clump of lemon trees.

      ‘Milos,’ he exclaimed, when the younger man emerged from the shadows of the villa. ‘This is an unexpected pleasure. Will you join me?’

      ‘For coffee, only,’ said Milos, shaking the other man’s hand and urging him to resume his seat. ‘I was—passing, and I thought I might enquire how your daughter and granddaughter are enjoying their holiday.’

      ‘Oh…’ Sam pulled a wry face. ‘Well, I think Helen is glad of the break. She’s had a pretty tough time since her husband was killed. Richard—well, Richard seems to have been a bit of a waster, if you ask me. Why else would Helen have had to give up her own home and move back in with her mother unless money was tight?’

      Milos wasn’t sure he wanted to hear this. Talking about the man who had lived with Helen all those years aroused mixed emotions inside him. It wasn’t that he was jealous, he assured himself. How could you be jealous of a dead man? But the fact remained, he didn’t like the sound of Richard either. Was he the reason Melissa was so obviously out of control?

      Maya emerged from the house at that moment and both men rose automatically to their feet. A swarthy, attractive woman in her early forties, she was of medium height, but rather generously proportioned. She tended to wear long flowing skirts that disguised her figure, yet the blouse she’d chosen revealed a liberal amount of cleavage. She was a distant cousin of Milos’s mother, and she never let him forget that they were related.

      ‘I thought I heard voices,’ she exclaimed, coming towards them and reaching up to bestow a wet kiss on Milos’s cheek. She spoke in her own language, which she much preferred to English. ‘I didn’t know you