by Margaret Way
CHAPTER FOUR
AS BEFITTING a man of Harry Linfield’s standing, patriarch of the community, his funeral was widely attended. Olivia knew the church was going to be packed. She was right. Mourners crowded into the cool, hushed interior, greeting each other in low, saddened voices. Many more people saw, as they approached the open church door, there was no room for them in the press of congregation. They would have to stand outside in the blazing sun or quickly seek the shade of the giant magnolia that stood in the church grounds.
Everyone was given a service sheet. Olivia as Harry’s nearest and dearest, sat up front with members of the extended family who had flown from all over to attend Harry’s funeral. Olivia had received countless subdued smiles and nods of recognition from the moment she had stepped out of her funeral house limousine right up until she took her seat in the front pew. Most of the mourners had been invited back to the house. She saw Jason on the other side of the church, in his formal dark clothes which together with the sombre expression on his chiselled face only added to his heartbreaking handsomeness.
She looked through him. His familiarity, the intimacy they had once shared a fierce torture. They would have been married from this church.
Don’t think about it. Think of Harry.
There were flowers everywhere. She had ordered reams of them despite the heat. Harry had loved flowers. There were great sprays of arum lilies, November lilies, roses, carnations, orchids and clouds of gypsophilia. Her huge bouquet of white November lilies had been placed on Harry’s casket. They all rose to their feet as the vicar, tall, silver haired, black and white robed, moved to a position just to the right of the coffin. He began to speak. The sort of words one always hears at funerals. Life, death, resurrection. The organ began to play. They all consulted their service sheets to join in the hymn. Perhaps there were too many flowers. They looked wonderful, softening the cruelty of death, but the perfume was clogging her nostrils making it hard for her to breathe. She began to pray for Harry; for her parents long dead. Harry had been far more than a guardian. He had been the closest person in the world to her. Outside Jason. It was impossible to leave out her traitorous lover.
“Are you all right, Livvy?” An elderly cousin bent solicitously towards her, placing a hand over Olivia’s.
She made a huge effort to respond. “Yes, thank you,” she whispered.
She made herself focus on her breathing. In and out. In and out. Deep and slow. Surely she wouldn’t be able to read the short poem she had picked out for the service? She was amazed now she had agreed to get up and speak. She was far too upset. She would read the poem quietly over his grave. Harry had been of a generation that read poetry constantly and loved it. She loved poetry herself. Poets had a way of expressing everything that needed to be said in the shortest possible time.
Several people moved from the congregation up to the lectern to make their tributes to Harry. She could barely make sense of what they were saying until Jason Corey moved up to the front of the church. For a moment she refused to look at him but he was too compelling. For the first time she heard clearly. His vibrant voice was controlled but it rang out thrillingly in the packed church.
I can’t weep she thought. She dared not start. Neither can I go on much longer. Sickness, sadness, turmoil was building up inside her. Jason spoke so movingly; once even making the congregation break into quiet laughter over something Harry had said and done. Beside her her cousin was quietly crying, holding a lace trimmed handkerchief to her mouth and nose. The congregation couldn’t wrench their eyes away from Jason, the light from the stained-glass window behind the altar, touching his deep russet hair with pure gold.
How long had she ached for him? Nearly seven years. A snowball in hell had more of a chance than she had of dismissing Jason Corey. He was so much a part of her it terrified her. Maybe their lives had been linked too young.
Giddiness swept over her. She felt hot, then icy. The perfume of the flowers was overwhelming. November lilies on Harry’s coffin. She had to cough. Instead she felt herself start to slump sideways….
She opened her eyes to find herself sitting on a long bench in the vestry, her back and head resting against the cool stone wall.
“What happened?”
“You passed out,” Jason told her quietly.
“Oh no!” She tipped back her head, closing her eyes again. “Did you carry me in here?”
“You always were a featherweight.” His half smile was brief, twisted.
“They’re singing the last psalm.” The sound of voices penetrated the solid mahogany door. “I meant to read a poem. I’d picked it out especially.”
“Just stay quiet for a moment, Olivia,” he said, his eyes on her extreme pallor.
“I’ll be fine in a moment. I’ve fainted only once before in my life.”
“I remember.”
“At least then I broke my arm. I didn’t intend to faint at my dear Harry’s funeral.”
“Of course not.”
“I want to see this through.” A look of anxiety crossed her face.
“I suppose you don’t want me to stick alongside?” Jason suggested, knowing in advance what the answer would be.
“No.” She had no choice but to hurt him. “You used to be good at coming to the rescue. Thank you for helping now, but I can carry on by myself. Where’s Tali?”
He looked surprised by her question. “She’s with her grandmother. She wanted to come but I thought it would be too much for her. Funerals are always achingly sad and she’s too young.”
That was something she already knew. She had insisted on attending her parents’ funeral. But then she had been ten and Harry had allowed Jason to sit beside her, holding her hand tightly. The mental image of him as a boy was still with her.
“I don’t like leaving you like this,” he said. She looked very beautiful, very graceful, very vulnerable, the black of her dress only emphasizing the magnolia perfection of her skin. Years may have passed but it only seemed like yesterday he was telling her he couldn’t marry her.
“But I don’t want you here, Jason,” she told him with intensity. “I can’t make that any plainer. I want no part of you anymore.”
He stared down at her in a kind of perverse delight. “Of course you don’t. I’ll send in one of your relatives. That nice cousin.”
“No thanks. I’m okay.” Determinedly Olivia rose to her feet. “Where’s my hat?”
He twisted away. “Here.” He passed her her very stylish black hat with its generous wide brim upturned at the edges. She was a glamorous creature his Liv. So he called “his Liv” in his thoughts?
She placed it on her head, giving him a frowning look. “Straight? There’s no mirror.”
“It’s fine. Sure you’ll be okay?”
“I have to be,” she said with a bitter smile. “There’s more to come.”
Indeed there was.
But it wasn’t until Gilbert Symonds Harry’s solicitor was leaving the house did she learn the full extent of what faced her. “If it’s convenient, Olivia, I’ll come back tomorrow to read Harry’s will,” he told her gravely. “Say two o’clock. Would that suit?”
“Two o’clock will be fine, Gilbert.” She gave him her hand.
“You of course are the main beneficiary as you know. But there are other bequests.”
“Of course. I would expect that. Harry was a very generous man. There’s family, charities, I’m sure he left something for Grace.”
Gilbert Symonds glanced away for a moment. “I know this might take your breath away, Olivia, in view of what happened between you and Jason Corey, but Jason is a beneficiary. He should be at the reading.”
“Jason?” That rocked her. Would the shocks never cease? Why did Jason deserve anything? He would have been well paid. Maybe it was a set of golf clubs or something, or the estate four-wheel drive he appeared to have the use of. Olivia waited for further comment from the lawyer. None was forthcoming.
“Until
tomorrow then, Olivia. You’ll let Jason know?”
“There’s nothing else I can do.”
The solicitor saw how deeply she was disturbed. He smiled sympathetically. “It’s Harry’s wish, my dear.”
A final bend in the road and there was the Corey house. It was not the modest bungalow she remembered—this was really charming. Considerable work had been done on the house and grounds. There was a new post and rail fence painted a glossy white that contrasted beautifully with the emerald lushness of the newly mown lawn. The house itself had been painted an attractive sage-green that matched the colour of the corrugated iron roof. The porch was now surrounded by a traditional timber railing painted white to match the front door, the windows and the facia trim. White wicker furniture on the porch completed the look of a charming, welcoming farmhouse. The garden was bright with flowers, lots of white and sunny yellow. An attractive white painted timber sign on the gate said: Corey Cottage.
Havilah’s estate four-wheel drive was parked on the gravelled drive.
Olivia’s heart leapt into her throat. She switched off the ignition, continuing to sit in Harry’s big car wondering what she was going to do next. Why had she come? She could have called him on the phone.
I can’t do this, she thought. Cool, calm and composed Miss Linfield who could handle the most difficult and precocious students remained where she was. Wildly undecided. Lapped in anguish.
What a fool I am! Surviving Jason had only been possible because she had removed herself totally from the sight of him. She still loved and detested him. She was to be pitied really, not that she had any control of it. Her will ceased to function when it came to Jason Corey.
Jason himself decided the situation by coming out the front door. He was wearing a paint spattered red singlet and navy shorts that showed his deeply tanned, long straight legs.
For a moment she almost huddled down in the seat so he couldn’t see her. How absurd! She hadn’t learned a damn thing about herself. Maybe she never would. Maybe she could never make a life without Jason Corey somewhere in it. He was heading purposefully for her. There was nothing else for it. To avoid being seen as a complete fool she had to get out.
“Hi, Olivia,” he called as he approached. “Want something?”
To her relief her voice came out with cool control. “I could have phoned but I wanted to get out of the house for a while. Gilbert Symonds is coming this afternoon—two o’clock—to read Harry’s will. It appears you’re a beneficiary and as such Gilbert needs you to attend.” She was glad her eyes were protected by her sunglasses though her heart was beating like a drum.
He stared hard at her. Damn near arrogant. “I know nothing about being a beneficiary,” he said.
“Be that as it may,” she returned acidly, “you are. It seems Harry must have been very fond of you.”
Little flames licked up in his blue eyes. “Don’t provoke me, Olivia,” he warned. “I served my time. I’m a free man.”
“Ah well, we’ve both had our misfortunes,” she pointed out with mock blitheness. “I’d better get going.” She half turned away, acutely aware the very sight of him pushed her to the edge. His smooth tanned skin was sheened by the lightest sweat. For a sickening moment she’d wanted to lap it with her lips. No man outside Jason had ever reduced her to this state. Where’s Tali?” she asked in a clipped voice.
“Is Tali the only Corey you like?” His expression was darkly amused.
“I lost all liking for you long ago. I’m free, Jason. Free of you.”
“Fine. Want to come in?”
“Why ever would I?” She faced him head on. It was a huge mistake—taller than average Jason had always made her feel small and very feminine. His tanned chest was densely muscular, his throat and jaw line hewn by a master sculpter. His nose was perfectly straight, his mouth a sensual curving line. Dark red hair, vivid blue eyes. That was Jason Corey. A confronting, challenging man.
“Women are curious creatures,” he said, his eyes conveying he was perfectly conscious of the ambivalence of her feelings towards him. “What brought you out here, Olivia? Really?” He locked gazes with her.
Immediately she was on her guard. “Not to see you, Jason. You have to move on.”
He smiled. “Why don’t you come inside? I’m repainting Tali’s room,” he said with mock casualness. “She’s over with her grandmother by the way. The smell of paint lingers even with the windows wide-open and it gives her a stuffy nose.”
“Does she have any little friends?” Olivia made an attempt to disperse the erotic quality of the current that flashed between them.
“Is this the schoolmarm talking?” He grinned. “Tali seems to prefer adults. She’s a funny little thing, six going on sixty. Sometimes I think she’s been here before. You might be kind enough to give me your opinion on the colour trim?”
“I’m sure you can come up with the smart choice yourself.” She could have said how much she liked all the improvements to the house, but his betrayal would leave her smarting forever.
“Women are better.” He let his eyes linger on her. She was wearing some gauzy floaty summer dress, sky-blue printed with flowers, blue sandals with a little heel on her feet. Her heavy silky black hair was pulled back in the heat with one smooth lock escaping to curve against her cheek. She looked immaculate and immensely sexy at one and the same time. “I spent ten minutes trying to decide between pink and lemon but couldn’t make a choice,” he told her. “Besides it’s hot for you standing in the sun.”
“How kind of you to worry.” A mocking smile played around her lips. “More like, come into my parlour said the spider to the fly. Could you really be attempting to break down my defences, Jason?” She knew if she made one false move he would devour her. “Don’t waste your time trying.” She turned back purposefully to the car. “We’ll never be friends again.”
“Then I’ll just have to live with it, won’t I?” He beat her to the car with a couple of long strides, opening out the door and waiting for her to get behind the wheel. He towered over her, much too close for peace of mind. Or body. Part of her was furious at the way they had picked up again; part of her in a panic; part of her just so busy fighting it. His particular male scent was in her nostrils. He had always been perfect to her. At least physically. It was just horrible the way she still wanted him. Horrible and humiliating. She was hating every moment of it, hating the way his blue eyes moved over her as if he knew everything there was to know about her.
Perhaps he did.
What exactly had Harry done? They sat in the library watching Gilbert Symonds, the solicitor, remove the document that was Harry’s last will and testament from his briefcase. His movements couldn’t have been more slow to Olivia’s way of thinking; either that or her nerves were racing.
Finally he began to read from the document, face impressive, voice with the appropriate gravitas.
“This is the last will and testament of me, Harold Benedict Linfield, bachelor of Havilah Sugar Plantation in the shire of Linfield in the state of Queensland.”
What was coming? Olivia pondered, gazing intently at the lawyer and never in Jason’s direction. He, too, sat in a leather armchair facing the imposing Victorian desk. Harry had never revealed even the remote possibility Jason Corey would figure in his will. And that was in the days when Jason had been hugely in favour as her fiancé. The lawyer’s voice droned on through matters of great importance to her.
As she had been promised the bulk of Harry’s estate went to her. There were numerous bequests in the way of valuable gifts to various members of the extended family, bequests to a range of Harry’s pet charities, a handsome legacy to Grace setting her up for a comfortable retirement whenever she chose.
Last came the bombshell. Powerful enough to bring down the house. Harry! Harry! How could you do this to me? Didn’t you consider the chaos you’d inflict on me? Olivia listened with a sense of utter disbelief, unaware Jason’s scrutiny of her and her reactions. Jason who had
betrayed her had been left an awful lot of money to play around with—half a million—but far far worse—it had her shaking her head in denial—Harry expressed his wish that Jason Corey would remain as Havilah’s overseer and business executive for all Linfield operations.
Olivia couldn’t believe she had heard correctly. She asked Gilbert Symonds to repeat it.
Jason turned to look at her, glints in his blue eyes. “I didn’t expect this any more than you.”
“No, but I bet you like it!”
Gilbert Symonds read out the relevant section again, a little alarmed by the level of emotion that erupted from Olivia and Jason. Harry Linfield had been no fool, the solicitor reflected, Jason Corey had a first-rate business brain.
At the end there was a further proviso that left Olivia fuming. What was she, a child? And Jason the clever adult? That was the way she was being made to feel. Ah Harry! Jason was to remain in place at least until such time, a time frame of eighteen months to two years was put forward—as Olivia would assume full control. Harry had Olivia’s academic career in mind, she may well wish to further it.
Perhaps end up Headmistress one day, Olivia thought furiously. She would probably never marry. A committed spinster. Well, she was rich enough not to need a man. What about kids? She didn’t even need a man for that. Women were the next rulers of the world, never again to be bitterly repressed. She felt strangely light headed.
“I don’t believe any of this,” she muttered finally, keeping tight rein on her temper. “Harry—my Harry—has sidelined me. Am I expected to be happy? I have to bow to bloody Jason Corey. I tell you what, that’s amazing!”
“Not at all! Not at all!” Gilbert Symonds sought to soothe her.
She ignored him. She turned in her chair, fixing Jason with eyes that glittered like crystals. “This is your doing, Jason! You played Harry like the master manipulator you are.”
He leaned back in the leather armchair. “Manipulator? That’s rich! Aren’t you a little grateful for the fortune Harry left you? It would stretch from here to Tasmania!”