Melting Fire

by Anne Mather

  Olivia sighed, twisting her hands together and moving round the end of the bed. ‘I—I want to leave,’ she said tautly. ‘Straight away. As soon as you can get dressed.’

  ‘Leave?’

  ‘Yes, leave—now, with you. Oh, please, Jules, don’t ask too many questions! Just let’s go.’

  ‘Go? Go where?’

  Olivia tried to be patient. ‘Back to London. Or Paris—anywhere you want. I’m telling you, I’ll come with you.’ She faltered. ‘That—that is what you wanted, isn’t it?’

  ‘Oh, yes, yes!’ Jules was fervent at last. ‘I mean, of course I want you to come with me, but—but now?’

  He looked disbelievingly at his watch, and Olivia came back round the bed. ‘Yes, now. Immediately.’

  He shook his head. ‘Have you packed your case?’

  ‘Packed my case?’ Olivia sounded blank for a moment. Then she quickly brushed his question aside. ‘I can soon pack a case. Just a few things to last me overnight. We can buy some new clothes in Paris.’

  Jules frowned. ‘But why? You have so many—beautiful clothes.’

  ‘They’re not mine.’ Olivia looked down at her bare toes. ‘Richard bought them. I—I don’t want anything that Richard paid for.’ She looked up at him. ‘You can understand that, can’t you? I want to start life with you—afresh.’

  Jules scratched his head, looking more and more confused. ‘But Richard is your brother! It is his duty to care for you—to look after you. He loves you, I know he does.’

  Olivia closed her eyes against the images his words evoked. ‘Jules, please, don’t say that. Richard and I—I—I hope I never see him again.’

  Jules gasped. ‘You don’t mean that!’

  ‘I do, I do! Oh, Jules, do you want me or don’t you?’

  ‘Of course I do.’ With a lithe movement, the Frenchman got out of bed and came towards her. Forcing herself not to freeze away from his touch, she suffered his hands to descend on her shoulders, and endured the warm insistence of his lips on hers, but when he tried to draw her towards the bed she stood firm.

  ‘Will you get dressed?’ she pleaded. ‘Please!’

  Jules sighed, looking down at her with scarcely concealed curiosity. ‘Olivia,’ he said gently. ‘Dear Olivia! You know we can’t do this.’

  ‘Do what?’

  ‘Sneak away, like thieves in the night. Besides,’ he paused, ‘it is not necessary. If you want to come with me, no one can stop you. Believe me! I promise you that.’

  Olivia’s breathing quickened. ‘You don’t understand, Jules! I want to go now. I must. Oh, God, can’t you do this small thing for me?’

  Jule’s face sobered. ‘Olivia, this is crazy! Why should we go so early? Before breakfast? It is not sensible. It is not the—adult thing to do.’

  ‘I don’t care about the adult thing——’

  ‘But I do. Besides …’

  He paused then, as if regretting that final word, but Olivia had heard it.

  ‘Besides?’ she prompted. ‘Besides—what?’

  Jules hesitated, as if considering his words carefully, then he said evenly: ‘Your—brother—wants to speak to me.’

  ‘Richard?’ She shook her head. ‘Richard wants to speak to you?’

  ‘Do you have another brother?’

  Olivia’s brows drew together. ‘But why? And how do you know? When have you spoken with Richard?’

  Jules sighed. ‘It was last evening, as it happens. You remember? I told you, he came to find you. We—exchanged a few words.’

  ‘You didn’t tell me about that.’

  ‘I forgot.’

  Olivia let that go. ‘So—what were these words about?’

  ‘This and that.’

  ‘Jules!’

  He shrugged his shoulders in a typically continental gesture. ‘He—he asked me about—about my career.’

  ‘Your career?’ A tiny germ of foreboding crawled in her stomach. ‘What about your career? Richard’s not interested in your career.’

  ‘Oh, but yes,’ Jules corrected her. ‘He was asking me about—backers, you know! Money made available to promote an artist.’

  Olivia trembled. ‘And?’

  ‘That was all.’

  Olivia stared at him. ‘You think—you really think Richard might—back you?’

  ‘Who knows?’

  She shook her head helplessly. ‘But you don’t need backers!’ she protested. ‘Your records do so well. You’re already a household name in France——’

  ‘In France, yes. But not in Britain.’

  Olivia felt chilled. ‘You mean—you mean you need someone to—to promote you here?’

  Jules lifted his shoulders. ‘Maybe I could make it on my own, maybe not. Olivia, there is never enough money …’

  ‘But—but you told me you were not a poor man!’

  ‘I am not.’

  ‘You said—you said I should never think that you were interested in me because of—of the Jenner Corporation!’

  ‘That is true.’

  ‘Oh, how can you say that!’ Unknowingly, Olivia had raised her voice. ‘How can I believe you?’

  ‘You can’t.’ The flat statement spoken behind her brought her spinning round on her heels. Richard was standing in the open doorway, propped against the frame, arms folded, bare brown legs visible below the towelling of a navy bathrobe. ‘Your—propre à rien—has his eye as closely to the main chance as anyone else. Did you honestly think it was your blue eyes that made you stand out from the rest?’

  ‘Why, you—you——’

  Olivia was at a loss for words, and squaring his shoulders, Jules took up the cudgel. ‘I love Olivia,’ he declared firmly. ‘I do. The fact that she was your sister meant less than nothing to me!’

  ‘Is that right?’ As Richard’s sceptical tones rejected the statement, Olivia turned grateful eyes in the Frenchman’s direction. ‘And I suppose you had no intention of using my influence with Pallister to further your career.’

  ‘Pallister?’

  Olivia turned to look at Richard again, as Jules stumbled to protest. ‘Non!’ he exclaimed fiercely. ‘I did not even know you knew Vincent Pallister until you told me.’

  ‘Who is Vincent Pallister?’ demanded Olivia frustratedly, but neither of them was listening to her.

  ‘So …’ Richard shrugged his broad shoulders. ‘You’re not interested——’

  ‘I did not say that.’

  Clearly Jules was in a cleft stick, but Olivia had to know what was going on. ‘Who is he talking about, Jules?’ she cried. ‘What is all this? What’s going on?’

  ‘Vincent Pallister is an American entrepreneur.’ It was Richard who answered her. ‘An impresario. I’ve known him for years. I happened to mention his name to your boy-friend.’

  Olivia pursed her lips. ‘I’ll bet you did!’

  Richard’s dark brows ascended. ‘I thought you’d be pleased. You have such a high opinion of Merignac yourself, I thought you’d appreciate the opportunity to have that opinion reinforced.’

  ‘You didn’t think that at all.’ Olivia’s voice was unsteady. ‘I know what you’re trying to do, Richard, but it won’t work. It won’t. I’m leaving. I’m leaving, do you hear? Today—this morning. As soon as Jules is dressed and we can get out of here——’

  ‘Attends, petite!’ Jules’s appeal silenced her in full spate. ‘Let us not be—how do you say?—too hasty, hein? I am sure your brother is a reasonable man. There is no need for you to get so angry. So—it was kind of him to offer to intercede with Monsieur Pallister on my behalf——’

  ‘Kind?’

  ‘—and I see no reason to throw his kindness back in his face, non?’

  ‘Jules! Jules, you don’t understand …’

  Olivia was conscious of Richard watching them, of Richard enjoying her frustration, of Richard’s smug satisfaction in the success of his intervention, but Jules did not see it that way.

  ‘Olivia, please! You are—embarrassing m
e, do you not see? I am a guest in your brother’s house——’

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake, stop calling him my brother!’ She was driven beyond reason. ‘He’s not my brother, he’s my stepbrother. No blood relation, do you understand? Just the son of my mother’s second husband. And he’s doing this deliberately—deliberately, do you hear? Because he wants to split us up. He doesn’t really care about you or—or me. He thinks he owns me, that’s all, and he’ll do anything to keep me here!’

  ‘Olivia!’ Jules was quite red-faced now. ‘Tu es hystérique!’

  ‘I agree,’ drawled Richard, straightening from his lounging position. ‘I suggest we continue this discussion after Merignac and I have had time to put on some clothes. After a cup of coffee, we’ll all feel differently——’

  ‘I won’t!’ Olivia turned on him like a raging virago. ‘Oh, you think you’re so clever, don’t you?’

  ‘Not particularly,’ replied Richard evenly. ‘If I were, I should never have allowed this scene to happen.’

  Olivia was contemptuous. ‘How could you have stopped it?’

  Richard regarded her infuriated features for a few disruptive seconds, then he transferred his attention to the Frenchman again.

  ‘As my—stepsister—seems intent on finishing this now, I’ll tell you my proposition.’

  ‘Your proposition?’ echoed Jules, and Olivia’s fears crystallised into a solid mass inside her.

  ‘Yes.’ Richard pushed his hands into the pockets of his dressing gown. ‘It’s quite simple really. You undertake to leave here—alone——’

  ‘You see!’

  But Olivia’s triumphant cry was lost beneath the level resonance of Richard’s voice.

  ‘—and I will agree to arranging a meeting with Pallister, and underwriting whatever the promotion costs.’

  ‘No!’ Olivia turned desperately to Jules. ‘No, no, don’t listen to him. Can’t you see? He doesn’t really mean it. If you—if you accept, it will be proof, don’t you see? If you’re prepared to do this, it will prove——’

  ‘Olivia, Olivia …’ Jules put a bewildered hand to his head. ‘Please, be quiet a moment. I must think. I must think …’

  Olivia felt nausea rising in her throat once more. This couldn’t be happening. It couldn’t. It was all some awful nightmare, induced by the wine she had drunk last evening. But then she remembered how the evening had ended, and she knew there was no mistake. This was real. Horribly real!

  ‘Jules, listen to me …’ She made one last appeal to him. ‘Put your clothes on and let’s go. At once. Let’s leave this house, please, please …’

  ‘Chérie, I would like to do that, but …’

  ‘But? But what?’ Olivia licked her lips. ‘You—you wouldn’t let me down now, would you?’

  ‘Oh, Olivia, I love you——’

  ‘Then come away with me!’

  ‘I would like to …’

  ‘Then why don’t you?’ she cried impotently.

  ‘Because Monsieur Merignac is an opportunist,’ retorted Richard dryly. ‘Isn’t that so, monsieur?’ The title was a mockery. ‘Well? Which is it to be?’

  Jules looked long and lingeringly at Olivia. Then, with a sigh, he shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, but I have to do as he says, chérie,’ he declared, as a broken sob escaped from her. ‘Surely you can see that? I’m a performer—an artist! Artists cannot be bound by the laws of other people.’

  Olivia’s jaw trembled. ‘You fool!’ She almost screamed the words at him. ‘You stupid fool! Oh God, can’t you see even now? It wasn’t real, it was all a trick. A trick! A ruse! You don’t honestly expect Rich to finance you now, do you? Why should he? He’s got what he wanted all along.’

  Jules looked perplexed. ‘Quoi?’ he exclaimed, falling back into his own language as the possibility that she might just conceivably be right came to him. ‘Je ne comprends pas. Qu’est-ce que tu dis?’

  ‘Oh, Jules!’ She could have scratched his eyes out, so frustrated did she feel. ‘You’re crazy if you think Rich will honour your agreement now. He knows he’s won. He’s won, I tell you.’ Her voice broke. ‘Oh, God, let me get out of here!’

  ‘Wait!’ Richard stepped into her path. ‘Where do you think you’re going?’

  ‘Anywhere,’ she spat at him. ‘So long as it’s away from you!’

  ‘Olivia!’ For a moment there was agony in his eyes. ‘Olivia, please—I beg of you, don’t do anything you might—regret.’

  Her laughter was almost hysterical. ‘Anything I might regret!’ she echoed. ‘Oh, Richard, I regret—everything!’

  Richard cast an impatient look in Jules’s direction, as if wishing the Frenchman any place but here. ‘I’m asking you, Olivia,’ he said quietly. ‘Wait until you have had time to think.’

  ‘To—sleep on it, you mean?’ she demanded, and they both knew to what she was referring.

  ‘Olivia!’

  But Richard’s warning came too late. Comprehension showed on Jules’ face, as she brushed past her stepbrother. ‘There’s nothing left for you to do to me,’ she declared tearfully. ‘Except kill me, of course. And that’s the only way you’ll keep me here.’

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  ‘THE test was positive, Miss Ross. You are pregnant.’

  The doctor’s words were not unexpected, but Olivia still found their unequivocal diagnosis shocking. Until the confirmation had actually been made, she could go on fooling herself that there might be some other cause for the giddiness and morning sickness she was suffering. But now the inevitable had to be faced. She was pregnant. She was expecting Richard’s baby. And the symptoms, which until recently she had believed women vastly overrated, were adding a cruel burden to the unnatural emptiness of her life.

  ‘Thank you, doctor,’ she said now, starting to rise, but he stayed her with a reproving hand.

  ‘Wait,’ he said. ‘What are you going to do? You’re not married, I know that. What plans have you made?’

  Olivia held up her head. ‘What would you advise?’

  The doctor shrugged. ‘I can’t advise you, Miss Ross. It’s a common enough complication these days, to be sure. You girls with your love of emancipation! If only you’d make sure you were adequately protected before indulging in—in promiscuity.’

  Olivia pressed her lips together. It would be useless trying to explain that she had not indulged in promiscuity, and besides, what was the point? As he said, he encountered the problem every day. The question was, what was she going to do about it?

  ‘I’d like to think it over,’ she said now, succeeding in standing up, and the doctor rose as well. He was a man in his late fifties, she supposed, grey-haired and tired-looking, with a practice too big, and not enough hours to attend to all its needs. But he had not lost his compassion for his fellow man, and because of this he said:

  ‘Is there someone you could—talk it over with? Someone who could advise you? Your mother, perhaps.’

  ‘My mother’s dead,’ she replied quietly. ‘But thank you for your concern.’

  ‘I suppose—that is—the father——’

  Olivia shook her head. ‘I’ll let you know what I intend to do.’

  ‘Very well.’ With a sigh, he let her go, and Olivia let herself out of the consulting room and descended the steep staircase to the street outside.

  It was raining, a steady drizzle, which made the September day that much more depressing. Putting up the hood of her anorak, she hurried round the corner into Maple Terrace, and stopped to shelter under the canvas awning protecting a fruiterer’s display.

  She was glad she had asked for the afternoon off instead of just a couple of hours. At least she didn’t have to go back to the office and run the gauntlet of the typing pool. They were already inquisitive enough about her as it was, without encouraging their curiosity. She could imagine the barbed comments that might circulate if it was discovered she had been visiting a doctor. Particularly since she had avoided close associations with any of the girls,
and had thus earned herself the reputation of being a snob.

  It wasn’t true. Sometimes she longed for someone to talk to, someone of her own sex to share a meal with her. But friendship demanded confidences, the kind of classified information she had no desire to share, and in consequence she remained aloof and alone.

  It was still raining when she reached Fulmer Street, and she realised she would have to dry her anorak out by the fire that evening to ensure it was wearable for the morning. At least it was nylon, she thought optimistically. It wouldn’t take long to dry.

  The bed-sitting room she had acquired for herself was on the second floor of Number 11. It wasn’t a particularly salubrious area of South Kensington, but at least it was clean, and her neighbours kept themselves to themselves. Her room consisted of a divan bed, which doubled up as a couch during the day, two dining chairs and a folding table, a hotplate and an electric kettle, fed like the fire from a meter, and various cupboards and a sink, which was useful for washing on mornings when the bathroom was constantly in use.

  Letting herself into its cream-painted surrounds, Olivia remembered how relieved she had been to find somewhere of her own at last. Leaving Copley, as she had, with scarcely a penny to her name, she had had no idea what she was going to do, but she had booked into a small hotel for the night and thought it out.

  It was the bracelet which had proved to be her saviour. Monday morning had found her outside a pawnbroker’s shop, and his barely generous estimate of what the bracelet was worth had enabled her to pay her bill at the hotel and advance the first month’s rent on this place. It also enabled her to buy some clothes, and live for the two weeks it took her to find a job. But the pawn ticket was safely stowed away, and she had determined to redeem it and return it to its owner as soon as it could be managed.

  Eventually she had found work in an insurance office. Her ability with languages, and her natural intelligence, had been welcomed by one of the partners in the firm, and already the clerk’s position she had first filled had been extended to cover some work with foreign claims. Her boss, Mr Dailey, liked her and trusted her, and in the three weeks since she joined Hewitt, Constable and Company, he had intimated that if she worked hard, promotion to a more responsible position would be forthcoming. It gave her a good feeling to know her work was respected, but curiously, the satisfaction she had expected from her hard-won independence had not yet materialised.