looked.
He was staring, he knew, but he couldn’t help it. From the moment her eyes had met his, he’d been aware of the connection between them. He wanted to get to know her; no, he needed to get to know her. It was a long time, if ever, since he’d felt such an instantaneous attraction before.
Her mother spoiled it, of course.
‘This is Mr Stephanides,’ she said stiffly. ‘He works with your father. He’s on holiday at the moment and apparently your father asked him to look us up.’
Milos saw the way Helen’s face froze at the mention of her father. It was as if whatever emotion his name inspired was not for public consumption. ‘My father?’ she said stiffly. ‘You know my father?’ And when Milos inclined his head, she murmured reluctantly, ‘Is he all right?’
‘He’s fine,’ Milos assured her, silently acknowledging what Sam had already told him: that Helen had taken her mother’s side during the divorce. ‘But he sends you his love, naturally. I believe it’s over a year since you’ve seen him.’
‘Almost two,’ Sheila Campbell broke in irritably, not liking being left out. ‘Not that that means anything to him. Helen knows what her father thinks of her. He made that very clear when he left us for that Greek woman. If you’ve come to plead his cause, Mr Stephanides, you’re wasting your time.’
‘I haven’t—that is—’ Milos knew he mustn’t show his hand too soon. Sam had warned him that Sheila would try to block any communication between him and Helen. By taking Sam’s side, he was only going to alienate them both. ‘As I say, I’m on holiday at the moment. As I know—few people in England, Sam gave me your address.’
‘He had no right to,’ said Sheila Campbell at once. ‘I know what his game is. He wants you to go back and tell him that we’re only struggling along without him. What’s the matter? Isn’t his second marriage working either? Well, he needn’t think he can come back here. We’re managing very nicely without him, aren’t we, Helen?’
‘Oh—I—sure.’
Helen looked a little discomforted by her mother’s animosity, but it might be only wishful thinking on his part. ‘Sam’s fine,’ he said anyway. And happy, he could have added, feeling the need to defend the other man. But he held his tongue and turned to Helen. ‘That’s my car out there, actually. I’m glad you think it’s—what was it you said? Swish?’ He smiled, trying to reach her despite her mother’s presence. ‘It’s not mine, I’m afraid. I’ve just hired it from a rental agency.’
Helen gave a careless shrug. ‘I didn’t recognise it, that’s all.’
‘Helen’s not interested in expensive cars,’ Sheila Campbell broke in crisply. Then, looking at her daughter, ‘I expect you’ve got homework to do, Helen. Don’t let us keep you. Helen’s at sixth-form college, Mr Stephanides. She’s hoping to go to university.’
Helen was evidently glad to escape. With a brief word of farewell, she left the room as quickly as she’d entered it. Milos wanted to detain her. He wanted to tell her he’d come to see her, not her mother, but that was impossible at the moment. Apart from anything else, if Sheila Campbell even suspected his motives, she’d probably forbid her daughter from having anything to do with him, and he had no real confidence in his own ability to make Helen listen to what he had to say.
It was two days before he saw her again.
Deciding the Saab was too noticeable, Milos had changed it for a more popular model, realising that if he wanted to get in touch with Helen he would have to do so surreptitiously. Consequently, he’d parked some distance from the house the following morning, hoping he might be able to intercept his quarry on her way to college.
He’d been too late. Although he’d wasted the better part of the morning waiting for her, the only person he’d seen was Mrs Campbell evidently on her way to work. She’d backed an ancient Ford out of the driveway and taken off in the opposite direction, leaving Milos not really knowing if Helen had already left or not.
He’d considered waiting for her after school, but that had presented too many problems. For one thing, he didn’t know where the school was or from what direction she’d approach the house, and for another, her mother would expect her to be home at a certain time. Any deviation from her usual schedule might make her mother suspicious.
Milos took up his position the following morning much earlier than the day before. Hunched over a takeaway coffee, he thought how ludicrous it was that he had to act this way. He hadn’t had time to shave, and he’d had no breakfast. Not exactly the scenario he’d anticipated when he’d agreed to Sam’s request to speak to his daughter.
Once again, the first person to appear was Sheila Campbell. As on the previous morning, she reversed out of her gateway and took off down the street. Milos scowled. Dammit, if Helen was going to school, wouldn’t her mother have given her a lift? He couldn’t have missed her again. It was barely eight o’clock.
He waited until after nine before making any move. When he’d attended university in England, schools had started well before a quarter past nine. She’d either left already without his seeing her, or she was still at home. She could be ill, he supposed doubtfully. He hadn’t thought of that.
Either way, he had nothing to lose by going and knocking at her door. If a neighbour saw him, he or she would probably assume he was a door-to-door salesman. Sheila Campbell was unlikely to hear about it, which was all that mattered to him.
He parked the car across the street, just in case anyone was watching. Then, thrusting open his door, he crossed the road and walked up the path to the white-painted front door.
He rang the bell, as he’d done a couple of days ago, and waited somewhat impatiently to see if anyone was home. He was half inclined to think the house was empty. There was no instantaneous rustle of someone coming to answer the door. But then his eye was caught by the awareness that someone had twitched the curtain of the window to one side of the door aside, and when he turned his head he found Helen staring at him from the other side of the glass.
She looked as shocked as he was, probably more so, and she continued to stare at him until he gestured for her to come and open the door. She hesitated, clearly weighing the odds of what he wanted against what would obviously be her mother’s disapproval, and then drew back from the window out of his sight.
It seemed to take for ever for her to cross what he knew from previous experience was the sitting room and cover the short distance between there and the front door. But finally she opened the door, albeit reluctantly, hanging onto the handle as if she had no intention of letting him inside.
‘Hi.’ Milos managed to eject a cheerful inconsequence into his voice. ‘Remember me?’
Helen’s lips tightened. ‘Of course.’
She was still wearing the faded jeans, this time teamed with a white tee shirt. Milos had to drag his eyes away from the pert nipples clearly etched against the cloth, reminding himself severely of why he was here.
‘You’re not at college today,’ he said inanely, and she cast him a pitying look.
‘Obviously not,’ she said, proving she wasn’t intimidated. ‘What do you want, Mr Stephanides? I’ve got a lot of revision to do.’
‘May I come in?’
That
