by Anne Mather
‘Mees Haran is waiting by the pool, Mees Pyatt,’ she said, inviting Olivia to follow her. And her announcement solved Olivia’s other problem of what to call Richard’s wife.
‘Thank you.’
Olivia shouldered her tote bag, and, not caring whether Richard was following them or not, she accompanied the maid across the hall. An arched doorway exposed several steps down into a sunlit garden room, where a pair of glass doors stood wide to a flagged terrace. Rattan tables and chairs stood in the shade of the upstairs balcony, and a pair of inquisitive sparrows picked crumbs from between the stones.
There were flowers everywhere, Olivia noticed. In pots and planters in the garden room, in tubs and hanging baskets on the terrace, and climbing over the columns that supported the balcony above. The scent was glorious, but perhaps a little overpowering, and she was glad when they descended more steps and she glimpsed the aquamarine waters of the pool glinting below them.
She saw Diane at once.
The woman she had never expected to meet again was propped on a cushioned lounge chair, with a huge yellow umbrella protecting her from the direct rays of the sun. Although she must have known that Olivia had arrived, she didn’t look in her direction. Her attention was focussed on a child who was splashing about at the edge of the pool beside her.
Her child?
Olivia caught her breath. If it was, it had been a well-kept secret. She couldn’t believe she wouldn’t have heard about Diane’s having a child if it had appeared in the press. Richard’s child, too? she wondered, aware of a not unnatural sense of envy. Not for the fact that it was Richard’s child, she assured herself, but because she would have so much liked a child of her own.
Diane had evidently heard the sound of her feet on the tiled apron, and with another quick word to her companion she got smoothly to her feet. In a one-piece bathing suit with exotic orchids adorning its navy background, she looked magnificent. No sign of excess flesh here, thought Olivia ruefully. Diane was every bit as beautiful as she recalled.
‘Hi,’ Diane said, by way of a greeting, coming to meet her. Her bare feet left damp patches on the tiles, revealing that she had been in the water, too. It made her seem more human, somehow, Olivia thought, aware of how tense she was feeling. No statue, this, but a living, breathing woman.
‘Hello.’
The word stuck in Olivia’s throat, making any further speech impossible at that moment, and she glanced behind her, half hoping that Richard was there. But if she’d expected his support she was disappointed. She and Diane were alone together, apart from the child.
‘I’m so glad you agreed to come.’ Diane pushed a hand through the sun-streaked cap of blonde hair that curved confidingly in at her chin. The action was unstudied, but so elegant that Olivia could only admire her composure. ‘Ms Pyatt—or may I call you Olivia?—you probably won’t believe this, but I’m hoping we can be friends.’
Olivia felt the hot colour invading her cheeks and despised herself for it. It was Diane who should be feeling uncomfortable here, not her. But Diane was probably used to handling difficult interviews, and she wasn’t. Indeed, the other woman’s casual approach took her breath away.
‘I don’t think that’s possible, Ms Haran,’ she declared now, swinging her tote bag off her shoulder and allowing it to hang from its straps in front of her knees like a shield.
‘Well—we’ll see,’ said Diane, with an enigmatic little smile. She indicated the chair beside hers. ‘Why don’t you sit down and we’ll talk about it? Oh, and call me Diane. Ms Haran is far too formal.’
Olivia drew a breath. In fact, what she really wanted to do was turn around and go back to the hotel. Her anticipation of this meeting had not prepared her for Diane’s familiarity, and she wondered now what she had expected from Richard’s wife.
But the sun was hot, and she knew she shouldn’t take unnecessary risks by standing in its glare. Besides, however surreal this seemed, she had come here to do a job. Unless she was prepared to be sued for breach of contract, she had to do as Diane said and accept the status quo.
Nevertheless, she seated herself on the next but one chair to Diane’s, grateful for the shade offered by its striped canopy and the distance it put between them. With her face in shadow, her colour subsided, and she opened her tote bag and extracted her notebook and tape recorder.
Meanwhile, Diane had approached the child again, who was still hanging onto the tiles at the side of the pool. He was a little boy, Olivia saw as Diane lifted him out. Dark-haired and dark-skinned, with a mischievous smile that exposed several missing teeth.
‘Go and find your mother,’ Diane advised him, after wrapping a fluffy towel about his shoulders. ‘My maid,’ she added, by way of an explanation as the boy ran off. ‘She and Manuel have three grown-up sons. Antonio is their baby.’
‘Ah.’
Olivia nodded, making a play of checking that there were batteries in the recorder. But Diane’s careless clarification had answered her question. Not Richard’s son, but Manuel’s.
‘Would you like a drink?’
Diane had seated herself again and was regarding her with enquiring eyes and Olivia wondered what she was really thinking. Was this any easier for her than it was for Olivia? Was she really as indifferent to her feelings as she’d like to appear?
‘Oh, I don’t think—’
‘Oh, yes, let’s have some coffee.’ Without waiting for her guest to finish, Diane got up again and pressed a button that Olivia now saw was set into the wall beside a row of changing cabanas. She came back and sat down again. ‘I think we should get to know one another before we start work.’
Olivia rolled her lips inward. And then, putting the recorder aside, she clasped her hands together in her lap.
‘You mean, you’re going to tell me why you really wanted me to write your biography?’ she asked tightly, amazed at her own audacity. She’d never expected to have the courage to challenge her like this.
Diane shrugged. ‘You know why I wanted you. I told your agent: I like your work.’
‘Have you read my work?’
‘Some of it.’ Diane nodded. ‘I read your biography of Eileen Cusack.’ She shook her head. ‘I’d never heard of her, you know, but after reading your story of her life I have so much admiration for her.’
Olivia drew a breath. ‘You read it?’
‘Yes.’ Diane looked puzzled. ‘Didn’t Mrs Goldsmith tell you?’
‘Well, yes.’ Olivia made a little gesture of dismissal, but that didn’t stop the heat from re-entering her cheeks. ‘But—people—say things they think you want to hear.’
‘People?’ Diane gave her an arch look. ‘You mean me?’
‘Does it matter?’ Olivia wished she’d never questioned Diane’s statement. ‘I—I’m glad you enjoyed the book.’ She tried to speak objectively. ‘Eileen was a brave woman.’
‘Yes, she was.’ Diane was thoughtful, but happily the maid arrived at that moment to divert her. ‘Coffee and fresh orange juice, please, María,’ she ordered pleasantly.
The maid said, ‘Yes, Mees Haran,’ and departed again. The heat around the pool was excessive, and Olivia could feel herself perspiring in spite of the thinness of her dress. The cluster of cyprus trees across the pool created a kind of suntrap, and she wondered if the canopy above her was equal to its task.
‘Perhaps you think I only invited you here because of Ricky,’ Diane remarked after a moment, and Olivia thought how odd the abbreviation of Richard’s name sounded to her ears. Indeed, for a moment she wondered if Diane was talking about the same person. ‘I didn’t—though you’ve probably realised he’s delighted to have you here.’
‘Is he?’ Rummaging in her bag for a paper tissue to wipe her hot face, Olivia couldn’t think of anything else to say.
‘You know he is,’ said Diane flatly. ‘Don’t insult my intelligence by pretending he hasn’t told you. He’s probably already hinted that we’re having problems. I know what he’s like.’
‘It’s nothing to do with me,’ said Olivia uncomfortably, half wishing Richard had joined them. She wasn’t at all sure she wanted to handle this conversation on her own. When she’d contemplated meeting Diane again, she hadn’t anticipated that Diane would be so friendly. She was hostile, and she’d expected Diane to be hostile, too.
‘If you say so.’ Evidently Diane had decided not to pursue it. At least for the present anyway. ‘So—’ She stretched her legs on the cushioned lounge chair, looking years younger than the thirty-five Olivia knew her to be. ‘Tell me how you came to write.’
Olivia shook her head. ‘Well, I’ve always written—’ she was beginning awkwardly, when a disturbance on the terrace interrupted them. Another visitor had just arrived: a man, who was exchanging a few teasing words with Maria. She must have just let him in and she was laughing at something he’d said. Then, as both Diane and Olivia turned their heads, he came casually down the steps towards them.
He was wearing a black collarless shirt under a cream linen jacket and trousers this morning, but Olivia had no difficulty in recognising who he was. She didn’t need the other woman’s delighted use of his name to remind her, or appreciate the view of Diane as she flew across the pool deck into his arms. As her pulse raced—and her spirits sank almost in counterpoint—she realised that Joe Castellano was apparently a closer friend of Diane’s than she’d thought.
CHAPTER FOUR
OLIVIA tore her gaze away from the embracing couple and tried to simulate some interest in the notebook on her knees. Questions, she thought, uncapping her pen; she should make a list of the questions she wanted to ask Diane. Not historical details like what her father did or where she’d been born, but questions about her persuasions: about what she thought of the increase in crime, perhaps, or the proliferation of dangerous drugs.
But apart from jotting down the words ‘Guns’ and ‘Heroin’ she couldn’t think of anything else to write. Her mind was like a movie screen that was filled with the image of Diane’s swimsuited figure melded to Joe Castellano’s muscled frame. His legs were parted, and she could see one of Diane’s feet stroking his calf, and one brown masculine hand was spread against the creamy skin of her spine.
Suddenly, she was reminded of what Kay had said: that she had heard some other man must have caught her eye. Oh, God! Was that who Joe Castellano was: Diane Haran’s lover? When he’d said he was a friend of Diane’s, she’d taken him at his word.
If she’d felt hot before, she was fairly burning up now, and it wasn’t just the temperature around the pool. She wished desperately that she wasn’t there, or that Joe Castellano had chosen some other occasion to announce his return. After the crazy thoughts she’d had about him, she didn’t want to meet him again. Not now. If only one of the area’s famous earthquakes would swallow her up.
She could hear voices now, and realised that they had separated and were coming towards her. Somehow, she had to get through the next few minutes without betraying how she felt. Should she stand up? Would her legs support her? She couldn’t be certain of anything, she thought despairingly. And she probably looked like a sun-dried tomato to boot.
‘Joe tells me the two of you have already met,’ said Diane without hesitation, and, judging by the openness of her smile, there was no animosity either. And why should there be? thought Olivia, aware of her own imperfections. Compared to Diane, there could be no contest, after all.
‘Oh—yes,’ she said now, closing her notebook and running sticky fingers over its laminated back. She looked up into his lean dark face and felt her body tingle. ‘Um—how do you do, Mr Castellano? How—how nice to see you again.’
He grinned down at her. ‘You made it, then?’
‘What? Oh, yes.’ She licked her dry lips. ‘Miss—Ms—Lovelace was very kind.’
‘Who, Bonnie?’ Joe Castellano laughed, and then to her dismay dropped down onto the footrest of her own lounge chair. ‘Hey, if she heard you call her that, she’d blow her top.’
Diane came to stand beside him, running a possessive hand over his shoulder as she spoke. ‘Stop teasing Ms Pyatt,’ she chided him, evidently not wanting him to be familiar with Olivia’s name. Then, as if realising how her actions could be construed, she sank into the adjoining chair. Drawing one leg up to her chest, she rested her chin upon her knee, but her eyes never left him. ‘You will join us for coffee, won’t you?’
‘Coffee?’ His dark brows ascended mockingly. ‘Something long and cold sounds more like it.’
‘A beer, then.’ Diane was obviously eager for him to stay.
‘A beer.’ His mouth compressed. ‘It’s too early in the day for me.’
Olivia wondered if that was a dig at Richard, but although he could easily have made some comment about the other man he didn’t. She wondered if he knew of her relationship with Richard. Had Diane told him that she’d asked her husband’s ex-wife to write her story?
‘Do you think you’re going to like it here?’ he asked, turning to Olivia, and she managed not to stumble over her reply.
‘It’s different,’ she said, realising her response was noncommittal. ‘Do you live in Los Angeles, Mr Castellano?’
‘He has a house at Malibu but he lives in San Francisco.’ Diane answered for him. Then, as if impatient at the interruption, she attracted his attention again. ‘Are you staying for a few days this time?’ she asked impulsively. ‘I’ve got so much I want to discuss with you before I leave for the East Coast.’
Joe Castellano shrugged. ‘I’d have said you’ve got your hands full here,’ he remarked, his tawny eyes flickering over Olivia’s averted head as she struggled to make herself invisible. ‘Aren’t you pretty tied up with this biography you’ve decided to have written?’
‘I’ve always got time for you,’ Diane retorted, her voice soft and sensual. ‘Are you staying at the beach house tonight? ’
‘Maybe,’ he responded carelessly. ‘But I want to check in at the hotel. I’ve got some business meetings scheduled for tomorrow and the beginning of next week, so it may be easier to stay in town. I might spend the weekend in Malibu, though. Why? Do you and Richard fancy joining me for drinks on Saturday night?’
‘I—why—’ Diane seemed uncertain at first and then, catching Olivia’s eye, she seemed to come to a decision. ‘Why not?’ she agreed lightly. ‘So long as Ms Pyatt can come, too.’ And as Olivia’s lips parted in consternation she added, ‘I’m sure she’d love to see the Pacific at sunset I can get Ricky to play tour guide. What do you think?’
‘I’m sure Mr Castellano didn’t expect you to ask me—’ started Olivia hurriedly, uneasily aware that there was something going on here that she didn’t like. What was Diane trying to do? Get her to take Richard—Ricky—off her hands?
‘Mr Castellano would be delighted if you’d join us,’ he interposed easily, and once again Olivia glimpsed the satisfaction in Diane’s face. ‘But call me Joe, for God’s sake! We don’t stand on ceremony here.’
‘Well...’
‘Joe’s right,’ put in Diane quickly, apparently prepared to be generous if she was getting her own way. ‘It’s a great idea, Olivia. Joe’s house is quite a showplace at the beach. Perhaps you should bring your swimsuit. We could have a moonlight swim.’
Olivia shook her head. She knew she was being manoeuvred into an impossible position and she didn’t like it. But she wasn’t really surprised. She’d suspected Diane’s motives before she left England.
‘Trust me—Olivia, right? You’ll enjoy it.’
Joe Castellano, at least, seemed to have sensed her ambivalence and Olivia wondered if he knew exactly what Diane was doing. He had to, she decided, her nails digging into her notebook. Why else had he come here the day after he got back?
‘I—thought I might do some sightseeing this weekend,’ she said stiffly, determined not to be railroaded into acting as Richard’s nanny, and Diane gave her an impatient look.
‘You’ll have plenty of time for sightseeing!
’ she exclaimed. ‘Surely you’re not going to turn down the invitation? I thought you’d have jumped at the chance to—to—’
‘Spend time with my ex-husband?’ demanded Olivia, realising Diane wasn’t the only one who could speak her mind. She heard Joe Castellano’s sudden intake of breath but she didn’t falter. ‘I’m sorry, Ms Haran,’ she added, getting to her feet, ‘but that’s not why I came.’
‘I was going to say, I thought you would have jumped at the chance to—to speak to people who know me,’ retorted Diane coldly. ‘You don’t imagine we’d have been Joe’s only guests, do you? We—he—has lots of friends. You might even have found it interesting to talk to his brother. He’s an actor, like me.’
Olivia’s face was burning. ‘Well, I’m sorry,’ she mumbled uncomfortably, ‘but I—I don’t usually mix business with pleasure.’ She licked her lips. ‘And—and as Mr Castellano obviously wants to speak to you, perhaps you’d prefer it if I came back at some more convenient time—’
‘Oh, for God’s sake—’ began Diane irritably, only to break off when Joe Castellano got to his feet.
‘Cool it,’ he said, and Olivia wasn’t sure which of them he was talking to. ‘I’ve got an appointment anyway. I won’t hold you up any longer.’
‘You’re not holding us up.’ Diane sprang up now, gasping his arm, forcing him to look at her and no one else. ‘Don’t go,’ she cried. ‘María’s fetching coffee and juice. You can stay for a little while, surely.’
‘And be accused of preventing—Ms Pyatt—from doing her job?’ he asked, and Olivia didn’t know if he was being sarcastic or not. ‘I’ll ring you later, okay? Give Ricky my regards, won’t you’
‘But, Joe—’
Diane’s tone was desperate, but he was already walking away. With a casual salute that included both of them, he disappeared into the house, and presently they heard the muffled roar of a car’s exhaust.