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clan.

      ‘It is about time you married and settled down, Oscar,’ Giorgios frequently said. ‘A good Greek wife would be a wonderful support, a wonderful investment! Would bless you with many children! There are those two beautiful daughters just waiting for you to make up your mind! Either of them would make you a happy man! What is your problem?’

      The ‘problem’ was, Oscar knew he did not love either Allegra or Callidora Papadopoulos, desirable though they were. And no other woman, yet, had made him want to commit to lifelong love and loyalty. Because when he did find such a woman—if she existed—that was how it must be. For ever. And Oscar knew he would never view any wife as an ‘investment’—as his father clearly did. Profit and loss were not part of the equation. Unconditional love was the only thing that mattered.

      Now, straightening his shoulders, Oscar switched on the engine and prepared to drive away. For the foreseeable future he had a more immediate matter to resolve—the disposal of Mulberry Court and its contents. And it would be unavoidable that he and Helena would be spending a great deal of time together and that she was going to have to be consulted every step of the way.

      * * *

      Oscar had already decided which accommodation they’d be using and now, leaving Dorchester, he drove rapidly towards the Horseshoe Inn, an out-of-town up-market establishment a few miles away. It was small but well-appointed, and discreet—somewhere they could talk and get this business sorted without too many distractions. Vast hotels had never had any appeal for Oscar and he never used them if he could help it. And when in London he always used his private apartment, where he looked after himself and where this car—a favourite among the several others he owned—could be safely garaged.

      Now, as the sleek grey Italian sports car took him swiftly to his destination, he remembered how confidently Helena had manoeuvred her own vehicle out of the overcrowded car park and he tilted one eyebrow thoughtfully. Her car was obviously not new, but in reasonable condition—and probably perfectly adequate for London use, he thought.

      Although in recent years his aunt had often spoken of Helena—and always in glowing terms—he didn’t really know anything about her career. His eyes narrowed slightly as a thought struck him. Perhaps he could pay her off, give her far and away more than the combined value of the house and all its assets and leave the business of disposing of everything to him? Surely it would be tidier all round if just one of them was involved. Wouldn’t she find that far less hassle than having to spend time down here? Then he made a face to himself, discounting the thought almost at once. Helena—obviously very confident and self-assured—had given every indication that she intended being full-on in the whole assignment. He groaned inwardly. Aunt Isobel, he thought, I always loved you, but why have you done this to me?

      CHAPTER TWO

      AFTER a fairly tedious journey home, Helena made herself some toast and a mug of hot chocolate, then undressed and went into her bathroom for a shower. As the warm water began drenching her body and releasing the tension in her tired muscles, she kept reliving every moment of that incredible afternoon. Her life had changed! The world had changed! Well, it was certainly going to be different.

      But Helena knew that all the formalities of the day, and the enormous significance of inheriting a fortune, were as nothing compared with the overpowering feelings she’d experienced at meeting Oscar again. Lifting her hair from the nape of her neck, she soaped her skin languidly, smoothing the sponge across her shoulders and down her arms, conscious that even thinking of him made her feel sensuous, dangerously sensitive. She remembered how her face had flamed crimson red as his brilliant dark eyes had bored into hers, how her pulse had raced, her tongue had dried as he’d stared down at her. She had wanted to look away, to escape from his entrapping gaze, but she hadn’t been able to. She’d been transfixed by his nearness, helpless beneath his scrutiny, and she’d wanted to scream out in protest that she was no longer a young, inexperienced, naïve teenager! She’d grown up and moved far, far away from his sphere of influence! Her need for him had long since dissipated, had been replaced by all of life’s other imperatives, like standing on her own two feet, holding down a good job that earned her enough money to survive in London’s fast track world. And to make and keep friends, form relationships… to just be. Without him.

      Yet now, it seemed, she was being forced to stand within his aura of light once again. But this time in a business capacity. How was she going to live through that?

      Helena sighed as she reached for a towel, just thinking of business bringing her back down to earth and her present problems—the problems she’d been facing before today’s revelations. Her problems with relationships.

      Her split with Mark had happened two months ago—unexpectedly and painfully. And the trouble was that she kept bumping into him with the new ‘love of his life’, as he’d described her, both of them looking blissfully happy. That was bad enough, but then almost at once Simon Harcourt had started getting amorous towards her. Lately his attentions had become so annoying that Helena felt she would have no alternative but to leave the job, soon. Even if it did mean having to give up the cottage that went with it.

      What she’d really like to do, Helena thought savagely, was to emigrate and get right away from everyone she knew in London and live in a completely different environment. Just until she got into calmer emotional waters.

      Then, even as the unlikely thought of emigration crossed her mind, another amazing one struck her and she stared at her own reflection in the steamed-up mirror for a second. Could Isobel have given her an unexpected lifeline, an escape? Could such an impossible, fleeting idea work?

      If she were to go and stay—well, live—just for a short time at Mulberry Court, she could reassess things and take stock of her situation. For the first time she would be in her very own home—well, partly her very own home—and find some peace to really recover from the emotional switchback she’d been riding lately. It would make it easy to give Simon her notice because she could tell him, quite truthfully, that her circumstances had changed and that for the next year she was needed in Dorset.

      A wave of excitement swept over Helena as she considered all this. It really could be a temporary answer, she thought. She had enough money saved to pay for her immediate needs and anyway there was sure to be temping work she could find in Dorchester when she needed to.

      She bit her lip thoughtfully. The big question was—what would Oscar think of her taking up residence, even temporary residence? Would he be agreeable to that? Wouldn’t he think it opportunistic of her… or even inappropriate?

      Presently, as she slipped into her nightdress, her mobile beeped, indicating a text message from Oscar: ‘Horseshoe Inn bkd wk end. Meet Fri nt O.’

      Helena snapped the phone shut, wondering where he was now. What was he doing, and was he thinking about her at all? Was he feeling as confused about the afternoon’s bombshell as she was? No, of course he wasn’t, on either count, she decided at once. This would be a pretty insignificant affair to him, just another small and inconvenient detail in his important life which had to be sorted out. And everything in his attitude towards her had suggested that she, Helena Kingston, was merely part of that unwelcome inconvenience.

      She slid gratefully into bed and pulled the duvet up around her shoulders, wondering whether she’d ever be able to get any sleep. She wished she had someone close that she could share her news with, a brother or a sister—it was far too late to ring her best friend, Anna. But still, she was used to steering her own way through life’s sometimes turbulent waters without anyone’s hand to hold on to. And she was certainly not going to let this particular tsunami sweep her under the waves.

      Snuggling down, she tried to shut everything from her mind, to calm herself into believing that it would all seem straightforward in the morning. But how could it? Because behind her closed lids all she could see were Oscar’s intense black eyes in their pools of startling white, gazing at her with that heart-stopping expression that had always sent shivers down her spine.

      On Friday evening, Helena had no trouble in finding the Horseshoe Inn, though it

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