Memories Of The Past. Кэрол Мортимер

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,’