proposal. It had obviously been the wrong moment to have mentioned it, he thought. If ever there was to be a right one. He remembered enough about her to know that she had a mind of her own, and would not easily be persuaded into making decisions she might later regret.
But what to do with the house and its contents was a totally insignificant matter compared with the far more vital one to be handled, he thought. Because he had the distinct feeling that he’d been awakened from a hundred-year sleep and by the most desirable woman he’d ever known. Or was ever likely to know. But had he woken up in time?
CHAPTER THREE
TRYING to subdue her somewhat ruffled feelings, Helena went into her bathroom to wash her hands and put a brush through her hair.
The morning had been a rather emotional experience, she thought. At certain points it had seemed to her as if she and Oscar were trespassing, which was obviously silly because Mulberry Court was legally theirs. But Isobel’s presence had seemed to follow them as they’d wandered through her home, and it seemed wrong to Helena that she hadn’t been there as well.
But what was really getting to her now was Oscar’s proposal that she should wash her hands of their present situation and leave him to it. Even if it would obviously mean that straight away a very considerable amount of money would come her way. She sighed briefly. He wouldn’t have the sensitivity to understand her feelings—the look on his face had said everything. But she felt, acutely, that Isobel had left this assignment to the pair of them, to be handled with dignity, obviously thinking that two heads were better than one.
Helena frowned as she dwelt on all this. Perhaps she was being mean, not giving Oscar the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps he really did have her interests at heart. Then she shook her head, responding to that thought. No, this was all about him, wanting to go it alone without the handicap of someone else possibly having an opinion that didn’t match his. He was, after all, a cutthroat businessman—he had to be, surely, as the head of the Theotokis dynasty? Sentiment didn’t come into it because everyone knew that there was no room for sentiment in business.
With her head beginning to throb with all these teeming thoughts, Helena decided that for the moment she’d had enough. Taking her mobile from her bag, she dialled his number.
‘Oscar, I’ve developed rather a bad headache,’ she said calmly. ‘So I’m going to have a lie down. Perhaps we can continue our… discussions… later. At supper?’
There was barely a pause as he responded snappily—she’d obviously interrupted something. ‘Fine. I’ll book a table downstairs for eight.’ And, after a moment, ‘If you think you’ll have recovered by then.’
Helena could imagine him raising his eyes impatiently at what she’d just said. Then she sighed. She didn’t usually have negative thoughts about people, about anyone, but somehow, she and Oscar… It had to be the disparity in their positions which had ignited the latent inferiority complex which she occasionally had to battle with, she thought. Well, thanks to Isobel, for the moment she was now exactly on a par with him. There was no need for her to feel that he had any advantage over her at all, and she must keep reminding herself of that. For one year, they were to be partners.
‘Oh, I’ll be fine by then,’ she reassured him. ‘I’ll see you at eight.’ And with that she rang off. Anyway, she thought, he wouldn’t be sorry to have some time to concentrate on far more important things.
As he drank his glass of whisky in the bar, Oscar had to accept that the morning hadn’t gone as he’d expected. He’d fondly imagined that he and Helena could have had a straightforward discussion about his aunt’s possessions—to make a list of what they wanted to take away with them, wanted to sell, to at least have made a beginning. He’d fully expected Helena to want some of the contents of Mulberry Court for herself, maybe a picture or two, or a small chair or some books, things that would easily fit into her car to take away. Arrangements could be made for anything else she might fancy to be delivered to her place later. But apparently she didn’t wish for anything at all except those ornaments, and she’d made it clear where her instincts lay—to leave it all in situ.
Helena was just lying on the bed reading her book and sipping the last of her coffee when her mobile rang. As she answered it, Simon Harcourt’s voice met her ears and she frowned slightly. ‘Oh—hello, Simon,’ she began, then listened for several minutes while he explained the reason for his call.
Interrupting at last, Helena said, ‘Actually, Simon, I won’t be available to come to the conference with you that weekend because… I’m afraid I shall actually be giving you my notice on Monday,’ and before he could say anything, she went on quickly, ‘I’ve learned that I’ve just inherited a property in the country, and it’s not a straightforward matter, so I need to leave London almost at once.’ She swallowed, hard. Well, she’d burned her boats as far as Simon was concerned. Where she stood with Oscar was another matter!
Helena slipped into her simple knee-length three-quarter-sleeve aubergine dress—which she’d decided at the last moment to bring with her—and glanced at herself in the mirror. The garment was still a favourite item in her wardrobe, and whenever she wore it she always made a point of sweeping her hair up on top, which she felt suited the low boat-shaped neckline. Her only make-up was her light foundation and a slick of eyeshadow. Her long pearl-quartz earrings completed the picture.
As the ancient clock on the landing chimed eight, she made her way downstairs. Oscar was standing at the bar, talking to Adam, and both men looked up as she approached, Oscar with a heightening of his pulse, which he tried to ignore.
As Helena approached, she smiled quickly, noting Oscar’s undeniably sexy appearance. He was dressed in light trousers and designer jacket and open-neck shirt; his hair had been newly washed, the dark, determined jaw obviously clean-shaven. A perfect model for any advertisement, she thought instinctively.
Immediately, Adam came from behind the bar, two large menus in his hands, and beckoned the two to follow him, leading them over to a table in the far corner of the restaurant.
Holding Helena’s chair out for her, he said, ‘Tonight’s special dish is seared sea bass—caught this morning,’ he added proudly. Then he took the just-opened bottle of wine from the ice bucket on the table and filled their glasses. ‘I’ll be back for your order as soon as you’ve decided,’ he said.
‘He seems to run a very tight ship here,’ Oscar commented, glancing at the man’s retreating figure. ‘By the way, I hope you approve of this… of my choice,’ he said, picking up his glass.
How could Helena not approve? It was vintage champagne. She put the glass to her lips and sipped at the frothy bubbles, looking across at him steadily. ‘Is this by way of a celebration?’ she asked enigmatically.
Oscar raised a brow. ‘If you like,’ he said casually. Well, they had just been left a fortune. ‘I hope you don’t have a problem with champagne?’
Helena smiled briefly. ‘I’ve only had it twice before—at weddings,’ she said. ‘And while I’m no connoisseur, I always found it a very… special… drink.’ She paused. ‘Thank you,’ she added.
A muscle pounded in Oscar’s jaw as he gazed across at her. She looked so unutterably lovely he couldn’t keep his eyes off her. Her hair was shining, its thick bands glinting like gold in the flickering candlelight, but she did look pale, and he said briefly, ‘Are you feeling OK now… has your headache really gone?’
‘Absolutely,’ Helena said lightly. ‘And, as a matter of fact,
