style="font-size:15px;"> ‘You mean the man will have told him about it himself?’ Helen frowned at the thought of the man’s having gone to him so quickly.
‘Cal is the man, darling,’ her father explained huskily. ‘Sam is the nephew I told you about, the one he’s become guardian to. And I’ve invited Cal over to dinner tonight, so I’m sure he will want to talk to you again about what happened.’
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
