Anne Mather - Sleeping With A Stranger

‘And why not?’ Sam was endearingly defensive, and Helen thought how different her life might have been if he’d been there to support her. ‘You’re a beautiful woman, my dear. Any man would be proud to call you his wife.’

‘Do you think so?’

Helen wasn’t so sure about that, but Sam had other things on his mind. ‘You didn’t answer my earlier question,’ he reminded her. ‘Were you happy together?’

‘To begin with,’ replied Helen honestly. ‘Well, Richard seemed happy, anyway. When Melissa was a baby, it was good. It was only as she got older and more—uncontrollable—that she went from being our child to my child almost overnight.’

Her father looked distressed. ‘Oh, my dear. If only I’d known.’ He reached out to squeeze the hand that was lying in her lap. ‘Tell me about him. What did he do for a living?’

‘Oh, this and that.’ Helen didn’t want to have to tell her father that Richard hadn’t held down a steady job in all the time she’d known him. That was why she’d had to become the breadwinner, and he’d resented her for it. ‘He was working as a courier when he died.’

‘A courier?’ Sam frowned. ‘Not exactly the most suitable job for someone who spent most of his evenings in a pub, I’d have said.’

Helen stared at him. ‘How do you—I mean…?’

Sam looked slightly shamefaced now. ‘Melissa told me,’ he admitted ruefully. ‘Oh—believe me, I wasn’t questioning her. She just came right out with it.’

‘She would,’ muttered Helen unhappily. ‘I’m sorry if she embarrassed you.’

‘She didn’t embarrass me.’ Her father shook his head. ‘But I can easily see that she’s quite a handful for you.’

‘And the rest.’ Helen took another sip of her wine. ‘Mmm, this is nice.’

‘Don’t sound so surprised.’ Sam pretended to be offended, but then he frowned again. ‘So does Melissa know that Richard wasn’t her father?’

‘Heavens, no!’ Helen was emphatic. ‘That was the one thing Richard insisted on. That no one—including my mother—ever suspected that she wasn’t his child.’

‘I see.’ Sam was thoughtful. Then, getting to his feet, he moved to stand at his office window. ‘Did he know who her real father was?’

‘No.’ Helen’s answer was clipped. Then, rather bitterly, she said, ‘I notice you don’t ask me if I know who he was.’

‘But, of course, you knew.’ Sam swung round then, staring at her with angry eyes. ‘Who suggested you didn’t?’

Helen shook her head, but her father had connected the dots. ‘He did,’ he exclaimed harshly. ‘Oh, Helen, why didn’t you write and tell me?’

A fleeting image of what might have happened if she had briefly crossed her mind. But it had never been an option. She’d believed Milos was married, and flying out to Santoros to confront a married man with his actions would have been quite beyond her. She’d been too young, too scared, and too proud to ask for anyone’s help.

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