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      ‘I am well, thank you,’ Helena responded coolly, half-standing to meet his outstretched hand. His long, sensitive fingers curled against her own, making her colour rise again. ‘And you… Oscar?’

      ‘Good, thank you,’ he said briefly. He sat down on one of the big leather armchairs opposite John Mayhew’s desk, and glanced briefly at Helena again. Pale, sometimes wistful, Helena had become a stunning, sophisticated female, exhibiting all of nature’s attributes, he thought. She was wearing a dark blue, fine woollen suit and cream shirt and very high heeled shoes, her slender legs clad in sheer dark tights. As she looked across at him, her lips were slightly parted as if she was about to say something, but it was her eyes, those blue, blue eyes which had once known the touch of his lips, their charisma remained, unique, unforgettable. Oscar straightened up and turned his attention to the solicitor.

      After all the usual polite greetings had been exchanged, John Mayhew opened a large file in front of him and began to read.

      ‘“This is the last will and testament of Isabel Marina Theotokis of Mulberry Court in the county of Dorset…”’ he read out, before proceeding to chant the detailed formalities. Watching him with her hands clasped in her lap, Helena was relieved that her heart rate was returning to something approaching normality. She wondered how many times in his life John Mayhew would have performed this task. Probably too many to count, she thought, hoping that the interview wouldn’t last long and she could escape. The room was beginning to feel warm as afternoon sunlight filtered in through the high windows, and she automatically leaned forward, forcing herself to concentrate, and trying to ignore the faint musky drift of Oscar’s aftershave.

      Clearing his throat, the solicitor continued.

      ‘“To my beloved great-nephew Oscar Ioannis Theotokis I leave one half of the property known as Mulberry Court in the county of Dorset together with all its contents, goods and chattels.”’ Adjusting his spectacles, he went on, “And I also bequeath one half of the said property known as Mulberry Court with all its contents goods and chattels to my dear longtime friend Helena Kingston. All and everything to be shared equally between the two aforesaid parties.”’

      What had he just said? Immediately shocked beyond belief, Helena gasped and almost stood up. This isn’t right, she thought wildly. It was Isobel’s coveted figurines in the library which she had promised would one day be Helena’s… not the house! Not Mulberry Court! There had to be some mistake!

      If she’d been struck by something hurtling from outer space Helena couldn’t have felt more stunned… And she was not going to look across at Oscar because—if this was true, and she quickly realized that it obviously had to be—she had virtually been given half his birthright! How on earth was he going to accept that? That the daughter of his great-aunt’s gardener was to receive such wealth! It was preposterous!

      She forced herself to listen as the names of all the other beneficiaries were read out. There was a very long list, including a substantial sum of money for Louise, her housekeeper, and countless charities and local organizations were included, but it was clear that the two main beneficiaries were Helena and Oscar.

      ‘As in many cases, there are one or two details which have been added at the end,’ the solicitor said. ‘For your information, Mrs Theotokis has given some instructions.’ There was a long pause before he went on. ‘She asks that Mulberry Court is not put up for sale until one year from the date of her death, and she asks that, if possible, prior consideration be given to a couple with a family.’ He looked up. ‘I happen to know that it was a matter of great regret to Isobel that she and Mr Theotokis never had children of their own.’ He smiled. ‘Maybe she is hoping that, one day, childish noise and chatter may echo through the rooms and grounds of Mulberry Court,’ he said, ‘and if it ever does,’ he added kindly, ‘I am quite sure that she will hear it all from her well-deserved place in heaven.’

      Hearing those words made a painful lump form in Helena’s throat. Isobel Theotokis had been a gracious, kind and loving woman to everyone who’d crossed her path, and her final act of generosity to Helena was to actually give her part of the home she’d loved so much. What an incredible gift, an incredible honour! It was totally unbelievable, but in the short term how was it going to affect her? And just as important—what was it going to mean to Oscar? He wouldn’t want to waste any time here—or anywhere else—that might distract him, even temporarily, from the famous Theotokis family business empire.

      There was complete silence for a few moments, then Helena pulled herself together and looked across at Oscar’s stern profile, trying to stem the hot tide of feeling that was rippling through every nerve and fibre of her body.

      ‘Although I feel almost totally overwhelmed,’ she began, trying to sound normal, ‘it would be wrong of me not to say how very… grateful… I feel to have been remembered in such a way by Mrs Theotokis.’ She hesitated, hoping she was saying all the right things. ‘I shall, of course, do whatever is considered necessary to… well… to assist in any way I can,’ she added, wondering what on earth anyone did when suddenly coming into a fortune that included a massive property full of treasures.

      For the following few minutes Helena could barely concentrate on what the other two were saying, but presently, after some further formalities had been dealt with, the solicitor handed over two large bunches of keys, and Helena stared down at the set in her hand—her very own keys to Mulberry Court! And the way she was feeling at the moment, they might have been a ticking time bomb!

      They all got to their feet, and as Helena looked up into Oscar’s eyes—which were glittering like ice-cold granite—she couldn’t begin to imagine what was going through his mind. The revelation that they were now joint owners of his great-aunt’s home must have been as great a shock to him as to her, she thought—that she, Helena, was going to be playing an important part in his life, at least for the next year. Then, lifting her head, she thought—well, it wasn’t her fault, and they were both going to have to make the best of whatever lay ahead.

      After they’d been assured of Mayhew & Morrison’s wish to be of further service when necessary, the two left the building together, and in the late afternoon sunshine stood outside briefly.

      ‘Well—’ Oscar shrugged and looked down at her with half-narrowed gaze. ‘That was something of a surprise,’ he said. And that remark was something of an understatement, Helena thought. For both of them. ‘Still,’ he went on, ‘I’m sure we can come to some arrangement that suits us both.’ The comment was casually made—as if he was merely referring to one of life’s irritating necessities—and, before Helena could reply, he went on, ‘I’ll get someone to value the place in the first instance, give us some idea of value until we sell next year.’ He shook his head briefly. ‘Isobel requesting a delay is obviously going to hold us up. It would have been more convenient to have got things done and out of the way as soon as possible.’

      Helena looked up at him, still feeling shattered, still finding it hard to take all this in. Was she really here again with Oscar—about to embark on a serious business venture? Oscar, who’d been the true love of her life when she’d been on the cusp of womanhood. Oscar, who had shown her what desire, and being desired, meant? Their romantic meetings, many of them under the graceful branches of the willow tree beyond the orchard—their special willow tree—were indelibly imprinted in her memory, as was the way it had all ended so abruptly… as he had ended it so abruptly, with little explanation. After one of his visits, Oscar had simply walked away—and taken her heart with him. She bit her lip thoughtfully. Had their relationship ever crossed his mind since? she wondered. Had he ever felt anything at all—regret or remorse, or even sadness at losing something which had once been precious? Probably not, she thought realistically. She would only be one in a very long list of women who’d experienced his particular craft in the romantic stakes.

      She swallowed hard, forcing herself to stop thinking along these lines. There was no point in digging up the past, even mentally, and she had quite enough on her mind—not counting today’s revelation—to focus on. To sort out.

      Looking up at Oscar,

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