had known Emily and Greg still saw quite a lot of each other socially—of course she had; it had been inevitable when they were both attending the same college, and obviously the friendship had given their friends a good idea for a practical joke.
With any other boy but Greg even Helen might have found it funny!
She moved to sit behind the small desk, which was all she could get inside this room, feeling more self-assured as she took on her business mantle. ‘I'm sure you aren't here today to discuss our divorce—–'
‘Are you?’ His voice was silkily soft, as he moved with the minimum of effort needed to take him to the chair placed opposite hers, his height looking slightly ridiculous folded into the small wooden chair.
She sighed. ‘Zack—–'
‘Emily and Greg,’ he intercepted drily. ‘What are we going to do about them?'
‘Do about them?’ she echoed in a puzzled voice. ‘We aren't going to do anything about them.’ She shook her head derisively. ‘Their friends are all having a good laugh at their expense because of Emily's birthday today—–'
‘I'm well aware of the fact that it's my stepdaughter's eighteenth birthday today,’ he bit out harshly.
‘Emily is not your stepdaughter!’ Two bright spots of angry colour heightened her cheeks.
His mouth tightened. ‘Oh, yes, she is, Helen. And she always will be. Whether you like it or not,’ he challenged hardly. ‘Whether you go through with the divorce or not—–'
‘Of course I'll go through with the divorce!’ There was no doubt about that.
‘Why?’ Zack watched her with narrowed, questioning eyes, no longer the colour of warmed chocolate, so dark now, they were almost black.
Her eyes widened. ‘Why?’ she echoed. ‘But—–’ She shook her head dismissively. ‘We're straying from the point of your visit.'
‘Are we?’ He crossed one long leg over the other, perfectly relaxed, filled with that stillness that was so unnerving.
‘Zack, I've had a busy day.’ And her head was starting to pound! This man always had been able to tie her up in knots.
‘Of course,’ he acknowledged coldly. ‘Heaven forbid I should interrupt your working day about something as trivial as our children's engagement!'
He was trying to make her feel guilty again! ‘I've already told you that it's all nonsense,’ she snapped. ‘Just a not very funny joke.'
‘You seem so convinced of that, but I don't see how you can be so sure.’ He shook his head. ‘Or have you spoken to Emily?’ His eyes were narrowed.
‘Well, no, but—–’ She frowned. ‘I've called her at home a couple of times,’ she added defensively. ‘She hasn't been at home.'
Zack nodded slowly. ‘Greg has been equally elusive …'
‘When I see her tonight we can all have a good laugh about it,’ Helen dismissed, although she didn't think her father would find it in the least amusing; he had never approved of Zack, and Greg was Zack's son …
‘So we can,’ Zack drawled. ‘Won't it be a jolly way to start the evening?’ he taunted.
Helen became suddenly still, staring at him as a terrible possibility occurred to her. ‘Emily invited you and Greg to join us for dinner tonight …?’ But she already knew the answer, could see it in Zack's face.
‘Yes, she—and she didn't tell you she had done so, the little minx,’ he slowly realised at Helen's distraught expression.
Deliberately so, Helen knew; Emily had known that although she had always got on with Greg she certainly wouldn't want Zack there. She knew exactly what her daughter had done, that she had invited Zack and Greg and then telephoned her favourite Chinese restaurant herself to change the booking from three to five people, without telling Helen she had done it.
The problem was that Emily had adored Zack from the first. Never having known her real father because he had died while she was still only a baby, it had been easy for the fifteen-year-old Emily had been when Helen and Zack had married to accept him as a father figure.
Helen knew, belatedly, that it should have occurred to her before that Emily might want Zack at her birthday party—her family birthday party.
Zack watched the emotions flickering across the paleness of her face with narrowed eyes. ‘Helen, I meet Emily for lunch at least every couple of weeks,’ he told her softly. ‘And she visits the house often, goes up to her bedroom, lies on the bed, listens to music—–'
‘Her bedroom is at my house!’ Helen burst out tautly, shaken by what he was telling her, each word like the prick of a knife against her skin. ‘And you knew damn well I wouldn't want you at this dinner tonight; you could have—–'
‘You wouldn't want?’ he echoed, dangerously soft, giving her a pitying glance. ‘I don't think Emily's eighteenth birthday celebrations should have anything to do with what you want! When we got married we didn't just marry each other; the children were involved too,’ he reminded her coldly. ‘And my relationship with Emily has survived the separation; I intend for it to remain that way,’ he informed her in a voice that brooked no argument.
Helen sensed his criticism of her own relationship with Greg. She had been very fond of her stepson, had deeply regretted not being able to maintain their friendship, at least. But at the time she had thought, whether rightly or wrongly, that a clean break was the best way.
She had had no idea that Emily had kept up such a close relationship with Zack, had always believed that she and Emily had a close mother-daughter relationship, that Emily could tell her anything. My God, she thought, no wonder Zack had been so scornful of that claim earlier today; he had known the truth.
It hurt, badly, that she had been so wrong about that. It hurt even more to acknowledge that she had created that particular situation herself, with her own reluctance to even have Zack's name mentioned in her presence. As Zack so rightly said, their children had been involved in their marriage too, and they had feelings that couldn't be turned on and off on command.
‘Oh, God,’ Helen groaned, burying her face in her hands. ‘What a mess!'
She had married Zack, she had truly believed at the time, for all the right reasons, and look what it had done to her beloved daughter. Not that Emily had actually been reduced to lying to her about the lunches and the visits to Zack's house; she had just omitted ever to mention them. And that had probably only been done so as not to hurt Helen.
‘Helen, I—–For God's sake!’ Zack swore as she flinched away from the touch of his hand on her shoulder. ‘You don't have to make your aversion to me quite so obvious, damn it,’ he rasped. ‘I was only trying to comfort you!'
She hadn't even been aware of his approach until she felt the warmth of his hand through the material of her blouse, and then she had reacted as if she had received an electric shock.
Now Zack was looking at her with that mixture of disgust and frustration that had been such a part of their marriage, his hands thrust out
