by Anne Mather
‘I can’t?’ she echoed now. ‘Why? Surely, after what you’ve just told me, Alex Gantry has as much right as anyone to take his father’s place. Oh, he may not have the experience, I’ve no doubt he will need some assistance to begin with, but as he’s Henry’s son his claim should be indisputable!’
Adam lay back in his chair, regarding her with troubled grey eyes. ‘Olivia, have you ever considered Alex might not be who he says he is? Do you really know that he’s H.R.’s son? Do you have any definite proof?’
Olivia’s lips parted. ‘Proof? Proof? But you know he is. I mean, everyone recognises him.’
‘It’s fifteen years since anyone has set eyes on Alex Gantry,’ retorted Adam flatly. ‘Oh, the likeness is there, I’m not denying that. But is it enough? Olivia, I can understand how you feel, and your motives are laudable, but until I know a little more about the man who says he is your stepson, I don’t think we should rush our fences!’
CHAPTER SEVEN
ALEX was not at nome when Olivia got back to the house, and she thought that was just as well. She needed time to assimilate what Adam Cosgrove had told her, and with Alex around, coherent thought was impossible.
Until that afternoon, she realised, she had never doubted Alex’s identity. Mrs Winters had accepted him, and she had done the same, quite simply because there had seemed no room for flaws. But if he was not who he said he was, he was obviously someone who had known Alex very well, and it was a little unnerving to contemplate the possibility of having a stranger in the house.
The reasons why anyone should impersonate Alex Gantry were less difficult to probe. He was Henry Gantry’s son, after all, and as such might be expected to be worth a small fortune. Alex Gantry himself had not known the terms of his father’s will, and money, as always, was an irresistible magnet.
Shedding her jacket in her room, Olivia shook her head at Adam’s calm acceptance of the situation. Somehow she would have expected him to be more concerned for her, but perhaps his sympathies had been strained by her own protests over the will. Perhaps he, like Francis, had suspicions about her, about her relationship with the man they all knew as Alex Gantry. Had she, by announcing her intentions, innocently aroused those suspicions, or was Adam simply stalling her from making her intentions public?
Her head ached with the complexity of it all. Adam’s assurances that he was having Alex’s claims investigated had not rung completely true. Surely, if he had any suspicions that Alex was an impostor, he should voice them openly. How could he allow her to go on living in the same house as a man who could be a confidence trickster, a swindler, or worse! If he was not Alex, where was Alex Gantry? Perhaps that was something she should find out for herself.
She did not see Alex that day. He had not returned at dinner time, and Olivia had a light meal served in her room preferring to avoid any involuntary encounter with the man she knew as her stepson. She spent the evening in a state of some tension, torn by the knowledge that half of her wished that Alex was not who he said he was. If he was not her stepson, the attraction she felt towards him was not something of which she need feel ashamed. But if he was not her stepson, a small voice argued, what manner of man was he? It was a no-win position, and she went to bed without coming to any satisfactory conclusion.
She did not sleep well, and she was still awake when the distinctive sound of the Maserati’s engine purred up the drive. The sound was extinguished in the cavernous surroundings of the garage, and then later, she heard Alex ascending the stairs. Her shoulders hunched instinctively at the awareness of him only feet away along the corridor. She was not alarmed exactly, but after what Adam had intimated, she was acutely sensitive, and it was hours before her brain would allow her to relax.
The following morning she was seated at the table in the dining room, drinking her second cup of coffee while she opened the mail, when Alex appeared in the doorway.
‘Preparing for another swift getaway?’ he enquired drily, advancing into the room, and Olivia felt her cheeks darken with colour.
‘No,’ she said shortly. ‘Why should I?’
‘You tell me,’ remarked Alex, lifting the coffee pot that was set in front of her and calculating its weight. ‘You apparently hadn’t a minute to spare yesterday,’ he added, helping himself to a cup of the hot aromatic liquid.
‘I—I had an appointment,’ Olivia declared, realising as she did so she was speaking defensively. Steeling herself against the almost irresistible impulse to tell him what Adam Cosgrove had said, she lifted her shoulders. ‘I didn’t know I had to check my movements with you.’
Alex’s mouth drew into a downward slant. ‘That was uncalled for. I just wanted to speak to you, that’s all.’
‘What about?’
The question was out before she could prevent it, but Alex didn’t seem at all perturbed. ‘It was about Lilian, actually,’ he replied, and she realised she had forgotten all about his girl-friend’s intended arrival.
‘Oh—’ She put down her cup with careful deliberation. ‘I—did you speak to Mrs Winters?’
‘I think that’s your prerogative, not mine,’ he retorted flatly. ‘As a matter of fact, it’s probably just as well you haven’t—yet.’
‘You mean—she’s not coming?’ Olivia could hardly keep the relief out of her voice, but Alex quickly discouraged her.
‘On the contrary. With your permission, of course,’ this was said with irony, ‘she’ll be here this afternoon. But there is a complication.’
Olivia fingered the slender gold chain that circled her throat. ‘A complication?’
‘Yes.’ Alex picked up a chair, swung it round and straddled it, facing her with his arm across the back. ‘She’s not alone. She wants to bring her son with her.’
‘Her son?’ Olivia was astounded. ‘She’s married?’
‘Did I say so?’ Alex spoke indolently. ‘Or in your small world can there be no other explanation?’
‘You said her son—’
‘So I did. But Lilian is not married. Surely someone of your—shall we say—experience should understand her difficulties.’
Olivia’s cheeks flamed now. Without a word she got up from the table, brushing crumbs from the hem of her woollen skirt. She hated the way he persistently ridiculed her relationship with his father, and she longed to throw his words back at him and deny him this favour. But the situation between them was too fragile to precipitate any retaliatory action on his part, and, afraid of her own treacherous feelings, she forced herself to speak collectedly.
‘How long does—Miss Eve propose to stay in Chalcott?’ she asked stiffly, and Alex looked up at her appraisingly before rising to face her.
‘One week, perhaps two,’ he remarked carelessly. ‘Does it matter?’
‘Only to the extent that I should like to give Mrs Winters the full picture,’ Olivia replied, uneasily aware of her quickening senses. In black denim jeans and a matching sweat shirt, he was much too disturbing, and avoiding his eyes, she turned towards the door.
‘Liv—’
His low use of her name halted her, but she glanced back at him reluctantly, wishing she could be as cool as he was. After all, he was the usurper here, not she, and no matter how justified, he had no right to treat her so outrageously.
‘What do you want?’ she asked now, and he approached her almost diffidently, one hand massaging the muscles at the back of his neck. The action separated the hem of his shirt from the low waistband of his jeans, exposing a thin line of muscled flesh. That glimpse of brown skin had an hypnotic effect on Olivia, and she thrust her hands behind her back to prevent any involuntary desire to thrust his shirt back into his pants.
‘Come with me,’ he invited, halting in front of her. ‘This afternoon, when I go to pick up Lilian. Come with me!’
Olivia’s breathing felt constricted. ‘Come with you?’ she exclaimed. ‘To collect your girl-friend? Why should I?’
‘Because I want you to,’ he replied softly, removing his
hand from the back of his neck and transferring it to her cheek. It was warm and slightly moist, the wetness of his hair—after a shower, she hazarded—providing that trace of dampness on his palm. It was a curiously intimate gesture, the transmittance of moisture from his skin to hers, and she knew a sudden ache in the pit of her stomach, that seemed to spread down, into her thighs.
‘Alex—’ His name was a protest on her lips, but she seemed rooted to the spot, incapable of either moving or repulsing him.
‘Liv,’ he responded, with sensual deliberation, and almost against his better judgment, she suspected, he slid his free hand round her waist and pulled her against him. ‘No wonder Henry was gulled,’ he muttered, the harsh words in plain contradiction of his tongue that was exploring the delicate contours of her ear. ‘Even though I know what you are, I can’t help wanting you. How’s that for irony?’
Olivia didn’t resist him. In spite of the outraged cry of her conscience, she let him bring his mouth down upon hers, parting her lips eagerly beneath that hungry abrasion. Without voluntary thought her arms slid round his neck, her fingers threading through the still damp hair at his nape, her body arching towards his with all the unconscious ardour of her untried youth.
‘Liv,’ he groaned, half in protest, when he felt her body’s urgent invitation. His fingers twisted into her hair, entangling themselves in its soft curtain, drawing her closer by its rope of silk. ‘Oh, Liv,’ he groaned, burying his face in the warm skin of her neck, and for several pulsating seconds they just stood there, wrapped in each other’s arms.
At last Alex lifted his head to look down at her with unexpectedly gentle eyes. ‘Liv,’ he said, lifting one hand and pushing back the hair from her forehead, ‘why the hell do I feel as if I’m the offender, when I know you ask for everything you get!’
Olivia drew an unsteady breath. ‘And—and what am I asking for?’
‘Right now?’ His lips twisted. ‘Me,’ he answered without conceit. ‘You want me.’ His gaze hardened. ‘Which is pretty sickening, considering your husband hasn’t been dead above two weeks!’
Olivia tore herself away from him then, unable and unwilling to defend the relationship she had had with Henry. Why should she bare her soul to him? He was only baiting her. Somehow she had to see this through, without losing the shred of self-respect she still possessed.
‘He was your father, too,’ she reminded him tautly, smoothing the tangled strands of dark hair behind her ears. ‘Don’t use me to salve your own conscience. Can’t you wait until Miss Eve gets here? She’s obviously not so exclusive!’
The look he gave her then was belittling, and Olivia turned away from his contemptuous stare. Why did he make her say these things? she asked herself helplessly. She had never been a shrew before. But with him, there was always this sexual conflict, something he was as aware of as she was; and because of that, they were constantly in contention.
The sudden opening of the door behind them gave Olivia a start. The appearance of the maid to clear the table made her realise how reckless their behaviour of a few moments ago had been. If anyone had seen them! If that passionate embrace had become public knowledge! Olivia’s legs felt weak at the thought of it, and avoiding Alex’s eyes, she made for the door.
‘Don’t forget we’re going out this afternoon.’
Alex’s mocking remark gave her pause. ‘Going out?’ she echoed faintly, casting a nervous glance in the maid’s direction.
‘Yes. To collect Miss Eve from the hotel,’ he remarked, with cool deliberation. ‘Don’t say you’ve forgotten. We’ll leave about two o’clock.’
Olivia’s mouth opened and closed helplessly. What could she say? What excuse could she make, with Julie’s ears alert to every intonation in her voice?
Instead of arguing, she paused in the doorway. ‘I’ll speak to Mrs Winters,’ she declared stiffly, without accepting or declining his invitation, and Alex inclined his head lazily as she made her departure.
The housekeeper seemed unperturbed that they were to have two more guests.
‘It will do you good, Mrs Gantry,’ she exclaimed. ‘You need company—young company. And any friend of Master Alex’s is bound to be young, isn’t she?’
‘Yes.’ Olivia did not sound enthusiastic, and Mrs Winters clicked her tongue.
‘What’s the matter, Mrs Gantry?’ she asked. ‘Are you still not feeling on top form?’ She sighed. ‘If Master Alex weren’t here, I’d say a holiday was what you needed. A proper holiday, I mean, somewhere nice and warm and sunny. The West Indies, maybe.’
‘Or Africa,’ remarked Alex behind them, and Olivia turned to see her tormentor leaning indolently against the kitchen door. ‘You’d like Tsaba, Liv. Plenty of sunshine there.’
‘There you are, then,’ said Mrs Winters comfortably. ‘Master Alex might take you back to Africa with him. Where was it you said you lived? Gstaad?’
‘That’s in Switzerland, Mrs Winters,’ Alex corrected her drily. ‘No—Gstango. It’s about fifty miles from the capital.’
‘I have no wish to go to Africa, thank you,’ Olivia replied icily. ‘Mrs Winters, I can leave the arrangements for Mr Gantry’s guests in your hands, can’t I? I—er—I’ve got a slight headache. I think I’ll go up to my room for a while.’
‘Oh, dear!’ Mrs Winters was concerned. ‘Is there anything I can do?’
‘No, nothing, thank you.’ Olivia walked towards the door and after a moment’s hesitation, Alex stood aside to let her pass. But she was intensely aware of him as she passed his lean hard body, and of the male scent that she had aroused.
* * *
Nevertheless, despite the fact that her head was aching rather badly by the time she reached her room, Olivia did not lie down. She was too tense to relax, too physically and emotionally overwrought to consider any alternative to movement. She could not sit still, and she paced the soft carpet in mild desperation.
Somehow she had to come to some decision about the future. What did she intend to do if—and this was the crux of the matter—if Alex became chairman of the Gantry corporation? She could not continue to live in the same house as him, that was obvious. But what would he do once he was told of her suggestion? Would her decision alleviate the hostility between them? Did she want it to? For she knew that a prolonged relationship with Alex Gantry could have only one conclusion…
She paced restlessly to the windows, gripping the curtain tightly and staring out into the fountain that rippled coolly in the courtyard. It was a crisp morning, the sun making a gallant effort to displace the misty clouds that rose from the hedgerows. It was the kind of day she loved, a day when, if Henry were still alive, she would have gone walking along by the river, squelching through the water meadows, and watching the birds building their nests. But now the river was forever tinged with the sadness of Alex’s mother’s death, and the plans she had made so naïvely, to sell off Henry’s empire and give the money to charity, were all as futile as her feelings for Alex.
She sighed. If only there were someone she could talk to, someone she could share her feelings with. Everything seemed to be working against her: from Henry’s careful planning for the corporation’s future, to her own mother’s involvement with Alex’s father. Had she known? Had her mother known what had happened to Mrs Gantry? Had she realised that her trivial affair had caused the deaths of two people, not one? And how could she, Olivia, be expected to punish Henry’s son for something for which he had already suffered punishment enough? No, she only had one course: that of giving Alex back what was rightfully his, and then disappearing completely out of his life.
Lunch was at one, and when she went downstairs she felt more equipped to deal with the situation. She had taken a couple of aspirin, showered, and changed into a slim-fitting cream dress, with wide sleeves that ended in a neat cuff, and a fringed hem. Her long hair was secured in a tight knot on top of her head, and the severity of the style softened her features and gave an upward tilt to her eyes that was most becoming,
had she but known it. She felt she looked calm and collected, an appearance that was belied by the sudden quickening of her pulses when she found Alex waiting for her.
He, too, had changed his clothes, and the wine-coloured corded suit and white shirt accentuated the streaked paleness of his hair. The close-fitting pants did little to disguise the lean muscularity of his hips, and the open neck of his shirt revealed the fine chain of the medallion she had noticed before.
Because Julie was waiting to serve the meal, conversation was limited to impersonal issues, but Alex’s eyes, dark and disturbing, held an unmistakable message. They tore away the serenity she was struggling to uphold, piercing the shield of her resistance and reducing her defences to a crumbling shell. Just by looking at her as he was doing, he could make her doubt the fundamental barriers of their relationship, and contempt for her own weakness once more hardened her attitude towards him.
‘I phoned Lilian,’ he remarked, unfolding his table napkin, and after an involuntary glance at Julie’s departing back, Olivia shrugged.
‘So?’
‘So—she’s looking forward to meeting you.’
Olivia sighed. ‘You can’t be serious!’
‘Why not? You may like her. Have you considered that?’
Olivia picked up her soup spoon. ‘Whether or not I like her is hardly relevant,’ she declared, determinedly tasting the spicy dish of minestrone Julie had set in front of her.
‘Liv!’ His tone was impatient. ‘At least give her the benefit of the doubt, hmm? She’s a nice girl.’
‘Is that your opinion?’
‘Yes.’
Olivia made no response to this and for a while they ate in silence. But then, after Julie had taken the soup plates away and put dishes containing meat and vegetables on the table, he said:
‘I meant to ask you: you went to see Adam Cosgrove yesterday. Why? What did he want?’
Olivia’s lips parted. ‘You have a nerve!’