The Theotokis Inheritance

CHAPTER TWO

AFTER a fairly tedious journey home, Helena made herself some toast and a mug of hot chocolate, then undressed and went into her bathroom for a shower. As the warm water began drenching her body and releasing the tension in her tired muscles, she kept reliving every moment of that incredible afternoon. Her life had changed! The world had changed! Well, it was certainly going to be different.

But Helena knew that all the formalities of the day, and the enormous significance of inheriting a fortune, were as nothing compared with the overpowering feelings she’d experienced at meeting Oscar again. Lifting her hair from the nape of her neck, she soaped her skin languidly, smoothing the sponge across her shoulders and down her arms, conscious that even thinking of him made her feel sensuous, dangerously sensitive. She remembered how her face had flamed crimson red as his brilliant dark eyes had bored into hers, how her pulse had raced, her tongue had dried as he’d stared down at her. She had wanted to look away, to escape from his entrapping gaze, but she hadn’t been able to. She’d been transfixed by his nearness, helpless beneath his scrutiny, and she’d wanted to scream out in protest that she was no longer a young, inexperienced, naïve teenager! She’d grown up and moved far, far away from his sphere of influence! Her need for him had long since dissipated, had been replaced by all of life’s other imperatives, like standing on her own two feet, holding down a good job that earned her enough money to survive in London’s fast track world. And to make and keep friends, form relationships… to just be. Without him.

Yet now, it seemed, she was being forced to stand within his aura of light once again. But this time in a business capacity. How was she going to live through that?

Helena sighed as she reached for a towel, just thinking of business bringing her back down to earth and her present problems—the problems she’d been facing before today’s revelations. Her problems with relationships.

Her split with Mark had happened two months ago—unexpectedly and painfully. And the trouble was that she kept bumping into him with the new ‘love of his life’, as he’d described her, both of them looking blissfully happy. That was bad enough, but then almost at once Simon Harcourt had started getting amorous towards her. Lately his attentions had become so annoying that Helena felt she would have no alternative but to leave the job, soon. Even if it did mean having to give up the cottage that went with it.

What she’d really like to do, Helena thought savagely, was to emigrate and get right away from everyone she knew in London and live in a completely different environment. Just until she got into calmer emotional waters.

Then, even as the unlikely thought of emigration crossed her mind, another amazing one struck her and she stared at her own reflection in the steamed-up mirror for a second. Could Isobel have given her an unexpected lifeline, an escape? Could such an impossible, fleeting idea work?

If she were to go and stay—well, live—just for a short time at Mulberry Court, she could reassess things and take stock of her situation. For the first time she would be in her very own home—well, partly her very own home—and find some peace to really recover from the emotional switchback she’d been riding lately. It would make it easy to give Simon her notice because she could tell him, quite truthfully, that her circumstances had changed and that for the next year she was needed in Dorset.

A wave of excitement swept over Helena as she considered all this. It really could be a temporary answer, she thought. She had enough money saved to pay for her immediate needs and anyway there was sure to be temping work she could find in Dorchester when she needed to.

She bit her lip thoughtfully. The big question was—what would Oscar think of her taking up residence, even temporary residence? Would he be agreeable to that? Wouldn’t he think it opportunistic of her… or even inappropriate?

Presently, as she slipped into her nightdress, her mobile beeped, indicating a text message from Oscar: ‘Horseshoe Inn bkd wk end. Meet Fri nt O.’

Helena snapped the phone shut, wondering where he was now. What was he doing, and was he thinking about her at all? Was he feeling as confused about the afternoon’s bombshell as she was? No, of course he wasn’t, on either count, she decided at once. This would be a pretty insignificant affair to him, just another small and inconvenient detail in his important life which had to be sorted out. And everything in his attitude towards her had suggested that she, Helena Kingston, was merely part of that unwelcome inconvenience.

She slid gratefully into bed and pulled the duvet up around her shoulders, wondering whether she’d ever be able to get any sleep. She wished she had someone close that she could share her news with, a brother or a sister—it was far too late to ring her best friend, Anna. But still, she was used to steering her own way through life’s sometimes turbulent waters without anyone’s hand to hold on to. And she was certainly not going to let this particular tsunami sweep her under the waves.

Snuggling down, she tried to shut everything from her mind, to calm herself into believing that it would all seem straightforward in the morning. But how could it? Because behind her closed lids all she could see were Oscar’s intense black eyes in their pools of startling white, gazing at her with that heart-stopping expression that had always sent shivers down her spine.

On Friday evening, Helena had no trouble in finding the Horseshoe Inn, though it was unknown to her. Situated on a private road and nestling amongst trees, the Grade II listed building backed on to open country, and after her long drive it looked like heaven.

Inside, the tall, bearded man standing in the small reception area by the crowded bar smiled at her enquiringly. ‘Hi there,’ he said. ‘I’m Adam—can I help?’

‘I believe accommodation has been booked for me for a couple of nights,’ Helena said. ‘I’m Helena Kingston.’

‘Of course—yes.’ The man glanced at the huge calendar in front of him. ‘Room numbers two and five have been allocated, one for Mr Theotokis and one for yourself,’ he said, smiling again. He paused. ‘Would you like something to drink before I show you to your room? The chef’s on duty until midnight if you’d like a meal,’ he added.

Immediately, Helena felt completely at ease. The inn had a sophisticated air, yet was welcoming and reassuring, its ambience the sort she imagined Oscar would approve of—though what his opinions, likes and dislikes were she actually had no idea of at all. Not now, not any more. But, hopefully, they might have just enough in their shared pasts to make this unlooked for alliance reasonably pleasant. Helena certainly hoped so, even though his reaction to the news had been slightly ambivalent.

‘I’d love a pot of tea in about ten minutes, and perhaps a sandwich?’ Helena said, glancing over to the lively-looking restaurant area at the far end. She picked up the small case she’d brought with her, then hesitated. ‘Is Mr Theotokis about?’

‘Haven’t seen him—and he hasn’t booked in yet,’ Adam said, taking a key from one of the pegs on the wall. ‘Let me show you the way,’ he said, taking Helena’s case from her.

Her charmingly rustic bedroom with every conceivable mod con was going to suit her very well, Helena thought as she looked around her. She’d be quite happy to stay here for a couple of nights. Sitting on the edge of the huge double bed for a moment, she glanced at her watch. It was getting late and she’d imagined Oscar to have been here by now, and she wasn’t sure what to do next. Would he expect her to wait around for him until he turned up, or could she go to bed after she’d had her tea?

At that exact moment her mobile rang. It was Oscar. ‘Helena, I’m sorry to be this late,’ he said. Then, ‘I take it you found the place OK?’

‘I did, and my room is excellent—thanks.’

There was a pause. ‘I’m not far away, so I should arrive in twenty minutes or so.’

‘Shall I… Would you like me to order something for you?’ Helena asked. ‘I’m told the chef’s still on duty.’

‘You can order me a whisky—but nothing to eat, thanks,’ Oscar said, and without another word he rang off.

By the time he arrived almost half an hour later, Helena had eaten the sandwiches she’d ordered for herself, and was sitting in a quiet corner of the still busy bar with her glass of wine and Oscar’s whisky already on the table. He came straight over and sat down opposite her.

‘Hi,’ he said briefly, then picked up his glass and took a generous swallow. ‘You obviously got here with no difficulty,’ he said, sitting down, and feeling fleetingly pleased to be with someone he knew—or knew once. And she was looking good—amazing, in fact—in her jeans and striped sweater, her hair tied back in a long ponytail.

Helena couldn’t help noting the dark expression on his features, and an uncomfortable chill ran through her. He was obviously thoroughly annoyed at being so late, she thought—or maybe he wasn’t appreciating having to be here at all—with her. Helena’s spirits sank at the thought of what lay ahead of them, of how he might view everything to do with their shared legacy. And, now that he’d had time to mull it over, how he was viewing her significant presence in the whole affair. Was he going to expect her to meekly see his point of view—to kowtow just because of who he was? And would she ever have the nerve to put her suggestion to him about staying at the house? He certainly didn’t seem in a particularly positive mood at the moment, she thought.

‘Anyway, it’s rather late for us to discuss anything tonight,’ he said briefly. ‘So we’ll have an early breakfast in the morning, then spend the rest of the day at Mulberry Court and catalogue all the items that need disposing of.’ He took another drink. ‘The quicker we make a start, the better.’

Helena finished her wine and picked up her bag. ‘I’m aware that you have a very busy life, Oscar,’ she said firmly, ‘but…’ She paused. ‘I would really like to spend some time just looking around Isobel’s home, revisiting something of my past, perhaps,’ she said. ‘I knew Mulberry Court so well when I was growing up, but it is such a long time since I was there—I wasn’t even able to make the funeral—which upset me a lot. And Isobel’s death was so sudden—so totally unexpected.’ She paused.

‘Yes, I thought you’d been forgotten,’ Oscar said, ‘that your name had somehow been omitted from the long list of my aunt’s friends and acquaintances who would have been informed of her death.’

‘No, I wasn’t forgotten—and I did explain later, with my apologies,’ Helena said carefully. ‘I was actually ill in bed with a horrendous attack of flu,’ she added, surprised that her attendance at what would have been a very crowded occasion had been missed by anyone—especially Isobel’s ambitious great-nephew. She stood up.

‘Well, then, I’ll see you in the morning,’ she said, and Oscar stood as well, looking down at her briefly.

‘Yes, and tomorrow you can have your little trip down memory lane,’ he said obliquely.

After she’d gone, Oscar bought himself another whisky and sat back down, relieved that the golden liquid was beginning to calm him, bringing him back to normal. The reason behind his lateness had been an accident that had shaken him up quite badly. In all the countless hours of driving he’d done, he’d never been caught up in anything like it—and he hoped he never would again. One of the first on the scene, and having to rescue two young kids from the back of a car that had seemed ready to burst into flames, had been a shattering experience. But the emergency services had arrived in an impressively short time and had been fulsome in their praise of Oscar’s quick thinking—which, when he thought about it now, had been purely instinctive. He drank quickly again. It was a miracle that no one had been killed or badly hurt, though the young mother who’d been driving had clearly been in deep shock. Thank God he’d been there at just the right moment to be of some use.

After a while, his thoughts turned to his reasons for being here. In the few days which had elapsed since the reading of the will, he’d had time to think things over and had to accept that its contents—and instructions—were hardly Helena’s fault. But one thing was certain—it was going to be a major inconvenience for both of them. Though, from what she had said just now, she was going to take her time. Well, if there was too much procrastination he’d have to hurry her up a bit, he decided.

He fingered his glass thoughtfully, that other idea occurring to him again. Could he get her to agree to sell him her share straight away? She might be glad of some quick money—living in London was expensive, and she could certainly do with a new car.

He drained his glass and went over to the bar for the key to his room. Adam looked up and smiled. ‘Everything all right, Mr Theotokis?’ he asked.

‘I certainly hope it’s going to be,’ Oscar said enigmatically.

‘No, no, no! You can’t do this to me… it isn’t fair! You shan’t have them… you can have the house, you can have everything… but these are mine! Isobel promised!’ And then a low, pitiful scream followed as the figurines fell to the floor and shattered into a thousand pieces. Helena sat bolt upright in bed, putting her hand to her mouth. Had she screamed out loud just then—had anyone heard her? That was one of the most awful, vivid dreams she’d ever had in her life. But this dream—this nightmare—had been so strong it had actually felt physical. She had felt Oscar’s hands holding hers in an iron grip as they’d both struggled for possession of the beautiful ornaments. Pushing and pulling each other like demented creatures. But Helena had been no match for his masculine strength and with that cry of despair she had released her hold and watched her precious figurines destroyed before her eyes.

As the early dawn light filtered in through the slightly parted curtains at the window, Helena allowed herself a shaky smile as she waited for her heart rate to return to normal. Thank goodness for dreams, she thought, because that was all they were—mythical wanderings of a half-awake mind. Her figurines were not smashed, they were still safely in their place at Mulberry Court, but could her dream have been a warning? she wondered. A warning to stand her ground with Isobel’s nephew and not let herself be intimidated by the fact that he was a true blood relative and she a complete outsider?

Oscar had decided that they should start the day early, and Helena made her way downstairs to the restaurant for breakfast as early as possible.

He was already seated reading a morning paper, a large cafetière of coffee in front of him, and he stood up as Helena came in and glanced down at her. She was wearing slimline black trousers and a pale blue shirt, her hair tied back away from her face, which was devoid of make-up. She looked rather wan today, he thought, and for the merest second he saw again the lovely, innocent girl of long ago. He pulled out a chair for her to sit down.

‘I’m impressed,’ he said. Then, ‘I didn’t expect to see you for at least another hour.’

Helena shot him a look as she took her seat. ‘I’m used to getting up early,’ she said. She wasn’t going to tell him that it was the horrible dream she’d had which had woken her at dawn.

Declining Oscar’s invitation to share his coffee, Helena decided to order a pot of tea for herself, feeling very thankful that he, too, seemed to need little to eat. She had never been a breakfast person.

Later, driving rapidly in Oscar’s car, they arrived at Mulberry Court and as they made their way along the broad, curved drive, Helena felt her stomach churn. This was now her house—partly her very own property. The much loved building she’d privately thought of as home all those years ago was legally hers! She still felt it too incredible to believe as she sat with her hands clasped in her lap, looking around her.

There, to one side, and out of sight of the main entrance, were the two semi-detached staff cottages, one each for the housekeeper and the gardener, and Helena turned her head to gaze back as they went past. After her mother had died, Helena and her father had come from their rented house in Dorchester to live in the gardener’s cottage and for the following eight years, until she’d gone to university, she had lived what she now thought of as a charmed life, roaming free in the wonderful Dorset countryside and the extensive grounds of Mulberry Court, where her father had been the full-time gardener and general factotum. Louise, a local woman, had been Isobel’s housekeeper and cook, and Helena would frequently drop in next door to enjoy her company—and share her wonderful home-made cakes.

As for Paul Theotokis, Isobel’s husband, Helena had barely seen him at all. He had been a rather shadowy figure, constantly away looking after his business interests, but when Helena was about thirteen Paul had died suddenly, and the impressionable child had been amazed at the extravagant funeral arrangements and the hundreds of people who’d attended. Huge, glistening cars arriving, one after the other.

‘Who lives in our… I mean… who lives in the gardener’s cottage now?’ Helena asked curiously.

Oscar glanced across at her. ‘Benjamin. He joined the “firm”, as my aunt liked to call it, a month or so after your father died,’ he said shortly.

‘And Louise? I know she’s still here, isn’t she?’

‘She is. She’s been keeping everything ticking over until… well, until the future becomes clearer,’ Oscar said. ‘But she’s having a few days away in Durham with a cousin at the moment, I believe,’ he added.

Poor Louise, Helena thought. Mulberry Court—and her little cottage—had been her home for so many years. Now there was the prospect of no home, and no employment, either.

Oscar drew the car slowly to a halt outside the entrance door to Mulberry Court, and they both got out and went into the house. And as soon as she stepped over the threshold, the smell of the place filled Helena with a warm rush of welcome. She took a deep breath, feeling almost faint for a second as a wave of nostalgia rippled through her.

‘It’s been such a long time,’ she said quietly. ‘Although Isobel very kindly arranged a small reception here for my father’s funeral, it was held in the conservatory… and, anyway, I was so… distraught… I hardly knew where I was at the time.’

Oscar gave her a sidelong glance. ‘I haven’t been here myself much, either,’ he admitted. ‘There just never seems to be the time… or a suitable opportunity.’

Together, and not saying much, they wandered through the rooms on the ground floor, Oscar making notes as they went, though Helena didn’t bother to follow suit. To her this was all so familiar, and little seemed to have changed, she noticed happily.

The glistening, well appointed kitchen was exactly as she knew it would be—the Aga still comfortingly warm and, in the dining room next door, the huge polished rosewood table was graced by the customary massive fresh flower arrangement in its centre. Helena smiled inwardly. Louise had obviously been determined that standards wouldn’t be allowed to drop just because Isobel was no longer there.

The main sitting room leading into the conservatory was still furnished exactly the same, though the heavy ivory-coloured curtains at the full-length windows were new, she noted. The smaller occasional room next door was where Helena and Isobel had spent many evenings together playing Scrabble or watching television.

Further along was the library, which had always been Helena’s favourite place, and now, as they went inside, she was stupidly relieved to see that her figurines were still there in their usual softly lit alcove.

But dominating the room on the opposite wall was the amazing gold-framed portrait of Isobel, and Helena had to put her hand over her mouth to stop her lips from trembling.

The painting was so touchingly real that it felt as if Isobel might get up from the chair she was seated in and step forward to greet the two of them in the room. She was shown wearing a soft, loosely fitting dress in a delicate shade of pink, her luxuriant silver hair elegantly coiffed on top, her large grey eyes smiling that gentle smile that Helena knew so well.

As with the other rooms, every available space was taken up to display all the ornaments to best effect and, as they turned to go, Oscar clicked his tongue, looking back briefly.

‘My aunt was some collector,’ he remarked obliquely. He refused to acquire much for his own homes, preferring to keep his space empty and clutter-free—much like his life.

‘Yes—but there are collectors, and collectors,’ Helena said, immediately on the defensive. ‘Every single thing here is exactly right for its situation. Isobel had an eye for such things and she had wonderful taste—and it shows.’ She paused, her head on one side. ‘I don’t know what you intend… I mean… I don’t know what your opinion is, but I think it’s best if everything is left exactly as it is for the time being—until after the sale of the house, I mean. I don’t think we should move a thing. After all, any prospective buyer is going to be far more impressed when viewing a property that looks lived-in… loved… cared for.’ She looked up at Oscar earnestly. ‘Once everything’s gone, the house will be just an empty shell. Lifeless.’ The fact was, she admitted, she couldn’t bear to see Isobel’s beloved home broken up and sold off in bits and pieces, even though it was inevitable one day. To Helena, it would seem like the ultimate betrayal.