Carole Mortimer - Memories Of The Past

As if her thinking about him had alerted him of her arrival her father stepped out of the house into the sunshine, and it was difficult at that moment to think of him as anything but young. The sunlight glinted on hair as golden blond as her own, his face still handsome and reasonably unlined despite his fifty-five years, his step jaunty, his body having retained the litheness of his youth.

‘Going to sit out here all day?’ he teased lightly, bending down to her open window. ‘I saw you from the balcony in my bedroom,’ he explained, frowning suddenly as he looked at her. ‘How long have you been wearing your hair like that?’

Helen could hear the censure in his voice, one hand moving up instinctively to smooth the neat plait that reached halfway down her back, a feathered fringe lightly brushing her brow. With this coupled with her tailored navy-blue skirt and neat white blouse, she knew she looked very businesslike. But that had been exactly how she had wanted to look when she’d got ready this morning. That her father didn’t like it she was left in no doubt.

‘A few months,’ she said dismissively, getting out of the car. ‘The house is looking marvellous, you must——’

‘I wish the same could be said for you,’ her father cut in bluntly. ‘You’ve lost even more weight. It isn’t attractive, Helen.’

‘Stop changing the subject, Daddy,’ she reproved impatiently, knowing exactly what he was doing. ‘You’ve been working on the house again when I specifically asked you not——’

‘Cal had someone come over and do it,’ he interrupted with steady patience.

Rather than being reassured by that information, Helen bristled resentfully. Oh, she was glad enough that her father hadn’t done the painting after all, but that Caleb Jones should have had a hand in it…

‘You should have told me it needed doing,’ she said shortly. ‘I would have arranged for someone to come in and do it.’

‘I told you, there was no need to trouble you. Cal——’

‘Caleb Jones obviously has his own reasons for wanting to keep this house up to a certain standard,’ she bit out curtly, her eyes flashing. ‘Which is precisely why I’m here, you know that.’ She swung her case out of the boot of the car, her movements very precise in her agitation.

‘And I thought you had come to see me,’ her father said self-derisively.

She straightened abruptly, sighing her disapproval of his levity as she saw his eyes twinkling with amusement. ‘This isn’t a laughing matter, Daddy.’ She shook her head.

‘I couldn’t agree more,’ he grimaced. ‘I haven’t even had my kiss hello yet!’

Her cheeks coloured hotly at the gentle reprimand. ‘I’m sorry, Daddy.’ She kissed him warmly on the cheek. ‘I had a horrible experience not fifteen minutes ago, and I don’t think I can be thinking straight yet.’

Her father immediately looked concerned, demanding to know the full story, waiting until they were seated in the comfort of the lounge drinking a much-needed cup of tea. She could see her father was as horrified as she over what had almost occurred.

He looked disturbed. ‘And the child’s name was Sam, you say?’

‘Mm,’ she nodded, shrugging. ‘I couldn’t tell if it was a boy or a girl, only that it was adorable.’ Her expression softened slightly at the thought of the tiny child.

‘He’s a cute little imp, all right,’ her father mused. ‘A real handful.’

Her eyes widened. ‘You do recognise who I’m talking about, then?’

‘Oh, yes.’ He nodded, looking at her closely. ‘Sam reminds me a little bit of Ben,’ he said softly, the statement almost a query.

Helen felt herself stiffen. It was purely instinctive, and yet she couldn’t help herself. Ben had been a long time ago. And yet she still couldn’t talk about him, not naturally, the way that her father now could.

‘Perhaps,’ she dismissed tightly. ‘But at the moment I’m more concerned with speaking to Mr Jones and making sure an incident like today never happens again.’ She knew she sounded pompous and prim, but the incident had been too serious to simply ignore and try to forget about.

Her father nodded thoughtfully. ‘Speaking to Cal should definitely ensure that.’

Helen looked at him frowningly, a little disturbed about the way he said that. ‘I don’t want to get this man into trouble, or anything like that. But you have to realise how dangerous his behaviour could have been.’

‘Of course I can,’ he agreed unhesitatingly. ‘Cal will too.’

She didn’t feel at all reassured by her father’s attitude. ‘He won’t sack the man, will he?’

Her father raised blond brows. ‘Would it bother you if he did?’

‘Well, of course it would,’ she snapped irritably. ‘Jobs aren’t all that easy to come by in this area, and the man obviously has a young family to support and look after.’

‘He only has Sam,’ her father put in quietly.

‘Even so——’

‘Cal will give him the roasting he deserves,’ he said with certainty.

She had already done that, in no uncertain terms, and jobs weren’t plentiful in this particular area. Besides, she could still see that adorable little face looking up at its father so trustingly…

After all, she had already told the man exactly what she had thought of the whole incident, and she could tell by the stricken look on his face how affected he had been by it all, so surely that constant memory of what might have happened was enough. It certainly wasn’t likely to happen again, she was sure of it.

‘Perhaps it isn’t necessary to discuss it with Mr Jones after all,’ she said lightly. After all, she had plenty of other things she needed to talk to Caleb Jones about—talking about today’s incident would only confuse things! ‘He doesn’t really need to know about it,’ she decided with finality.

‘Hm,’ her father said thoughtfully. ‘There’s only one thing wrong with that, darling.’

‘Yes?’ she prompted sharply, not seeing what the complication was at all.

He nodded. ‘Cal already knows what happened this afternoon.’

‘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.