CAROL MARINELLI - Greek Affairs - In His Bed - Sleeping with a Stranger / Blackmailed into the Greek Tycoon's Bed / Bedded by the Greek Billionaire

‘I see you’re being given the grand tour,’ he remarked now, exchanging a humorous look with her father. ‘Is he trying to persuade you that growing grapes is a rewarding occupation?’

‘You and I both know it can be the most frustrating occupation there is,’ retorted Sam with some feeling. He turned to his daughter. ‘Alex is grumbling because I recruited him as soon as he left college. He’s become my right-hand man in recent years. I don’t know what I’d do without him.’

‘You’d manage,’ said Alex drily, but Helen sensed there was a genuine understanding between the two men. He was the son her father had never had, she thought, wondering if that had been one of the reasons for her parents’ break-up. There was no doubt that Sheila hadn’t wanted any more children. Helen had heard her say as much many times.

They continued on, paying a brief call at the mill where the grapes were crushed, before entering Sam’s office where the commercial arm of the business was conducted. A young computer operator brought them a bottle of wine and two glasses, and Helen was quite glad to sit down for a while. The heat really was quite intense.

They talked for a while about wine-growing and the different qualities of various grapes, and then Sam said with sudden fierceness, ‘You don’t know how glad I am to see you here, Helen. Can you ever forgive me for the methods I used to achieve it?’

Helen studied the wine in her glass for a moment. Then she looked up at him with rueful eyes. ‘We’ve both been at fault,’ she said. ‘Me, for not being prepared to listen to reason. And you for giving up on me far too soon.’

‘I sent Milos to see you,’ protested her father, and Helen thought how fatalistic that had been. That one action had changed her life for ever and systematically destroyed any hopes of their reconciliation.

‘Anyway, that’s all in the past now,’ she said, not wanting to remember the frightened child she had been. Finding herself pregnant at seventeen had been terrifying enough without her mother threatening to throw her out if she refused to marry the baby’s father …

‘But I want to know about your past,’ persisted her father. ‘I want to know about this man you married: Richard Shaw. Didn’t your mother think you were too young to make such a life-changing decision?’

Helen’s lips twisted. ‘Not really.’

‘So she was all for it?’

‘She didn’t object,’ said Helen obliquely. ‘And then, when Melissa came along …’

‘Of course. Melissa.’ Her father smiled. ‘I think I understand now. You were going to have a baby and the decision was taken for you. Didn’t your mother ever tell you that that was how she and I got together?’

‘No!’

Helen was stunned. But it explained so much. Not least, the struggle her mother and father had had to make their marriage work.

‘Were you happy?’

Sam’s question was well-meant, she knew, but he deserved to know at least a little of the truth. ‘Melissa—isn’t Richard’s child,’ she said. ‘He knew that, but he wanted to marry me anyway.’

‘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.

MILOS drove Melissa back to the vineyard in the late afternoon.

He was still shaken, however, and he gripped the wheel with sweating fingers in a futile attempt to control his emotions. But, God help him, he was staggered by what he’d just discovered.

His original intention had been to spend only a short time at Vassilios. Despite his willingness to entertain the girl, he hadn’t really expected Melissa and his sister to hit it off so well.

As he’d anticipated, Rhea had been waiting for him when they had arrived at the villa and, although at eighteen she was scarcely a contemporary of the younger girl, she’d been delighted to meet Melissa.

He acknowledged it was probably because she was so different from the girls Rhea was used to associating with. Girls from wealthy families, like her own, who were generally in awe of their parents. No one could accuse Melissa of that, however, and Rhea, who had always been a bit of a rebel herself, seemed fascinated by her.

From Melissa’s point of view, the visit had been a complete success. Rhea had prevailed upon her brother to let the girl stay long enough to have a swim, and, initially, he’d been happy enough to indulge her. After all, he’d had the agenda of an upcoming conference in Athens to study, and it had been quite pleasant hearing the shrieks of girlish laughter coming from the pool.

It wasn’t until Rhea had come to find him and ask if Melissa could stay for supper that things had changed. ‘We want to practise applying eye make-up,’ she said appealingly. ‘You know I’m no good at it and Melissa says she is. Her mother probably doesn’t stop her from reading women’s magazines like Mama does me.’