by Anne Mather
‘Okay.’ He gestured towards the sliding doors. ‘Let’s go.
She was intensely conscious of his presence as they walked back along the gallery. In denim cut-offs and a cotton polo shut, he seemed more approachable than before. His bare feet were slipped casually into a pair of worn deck shoes, and no one meeting him for the first time would have imagined the commercial power he possessed.
Commercial power?
She chose not to examine that thought too closely, and when she passed the door to his suite of rooms again she deliberately looked away. She was glad of the sight of the pool room to give her something to talk about, and Joe explained they had cool days even in southern California.
In the event, they went out through the pool room onto the patio at the side of the house. From here, it was possible to see that the land shelved down to the shoreline in a series of terraces, with tree-covered slopes and tumbling waterfalls breaking up the view.
‘Oh, it’s so beautiful!’ said Olivia impulsively, turning her face up to the sun. ‘I can’t believe you call this a beach house. If I lived here, I’d never want to leave.’
‘Is that so?’ His tone was sardonic, and she realised she had spoken childishly again. ‘Well, it is a house, and it’s at the beach,’ he murmured mildly. ‘I like it, too, but I also like my house in San Francisco. It’s cooler there, so I guess I have the best of both worlds.’
Olivia nodded, managing a tight smile, but she was warning herself not to make any more mistakes. He was humouring her, she knew it; she was almost sure now he didn’t want her here. He would have preferred to send her packing, only he’d decided to disarm her first.
They walked down through the gardens, Joe pausing every now and then to point out some rare flower or to draw her attention to the view. And, although she had determined to be on her guard with him, his manner was persuasive. It was so easy to believe he was having fun.
The air was magic, a combination of exotic plants, a Pacific breeze, and warmth. In normal circumstances, Olivia wouldn’t have been able to wait to dive into the ocean. The anticipation of how that cool water would feel against her hot skin was almost irresistible.
A long wooden dock jutted out from the shore, and Joe explained that he had a boat moored at Marina del Rey. Although he was reticent about its size, Olivia guessed it would be elegant. If there was one thing she had learned about him from his house, it was that he had exquisite taste.
They spent some time on the dock, watching the waves curling under the boardwalk, and then strolled companionably along the shoreline, their shoes making a trail in the wet sand. And although Olivia had promised herself that she wouldn’t get swept away again by his charm and influence she found she was talking about her work without restraint.
She’d realised later that he was probably skilled at gaining people’s confidence, at introducing certain topics and drawing them out. But at the time she wasn’t thinking; she was just flattered by his interest, and this was one area, at least, where she felt at ease.
‘So what made you decide to write Diane’s story?’ he asked at last after expressing his sympathy at the tragic death of Eileen Cusack. ‘I mean—’ For once, he was diffident. ‘I’d have thought she was unlikely to accept your motives. You were her husband’s ex-wife, after all. It could have been a recipe for disaster.’
‘Why?’ Olivia frowned, glancing up into his lean, intelligent face with curious eyes. Then, because she found it difficult to sustain his gaze, she looked away. ‘In any case, it was Diane who asked me.’
‘You’re kidding!’
‘No, I’m not.’ Olivia felt vaguely indignant now. ‘I admit, I was surprised at first, but it’s been okay.’
‘But she couldn’t be sure your motives were genuine. When you accepted the commission, I mean,’ he added swiftly. ‘How did she know you hadn’t changed your mind?’
‘Changed my mind?’ Olivia was confused. She shook her head and several wisps of hair that had escaped from the braid she’d fastened so hurriedly earlier floated about her face. ‘Changed my mind about what?’
His mouth tightened and she sensed her reply hadn’t pleased him, but his voice was mild when he spoke. ‘I’m sure you know,’ he said. ‘You told me yourself that Ricky believed you were still in love with him. You might have wanted him back. That was always a possibility, but I guess Diane cared more about your reputation as a biographer then the inherent dangers to her marriage.’
‘Now wait a minute...’ Olivia halted now, her reluctance to get involved in any more controversy muted by a very real need to understand. She brushed back her hair with an impatient hand. ‘Diane has nothing to fear from me.’ She blew out a breath. ‘Whatever she’s told you, Richard means nothing to me.’
‘Do you mean that?’
Olivia felt the heat invading her neck. ‘Of course I mean it.’
‘But you don’t deny you’re not still with the man you left Ricky for?’
‘The man I left him for?’ Olivia was indignant. ‘I didn’t leave Richard for a man!’
She thought he paled slightly at that, but before she could elaborate he spoke again. ‘The—woman, then,’ he said harshly, a line of white appearing around his mouth. ‘The—the person you said you’d fallen in love with.’
Olivia gasped. ‘Are you implying that—?’
‘You said there was no special man in England,’ Joe reminded her doggedly, and she stared at him as if she couldn’t believe her eyes.
‘And that made you think—’ She broke off, and then continued, unsteadily, ‘There is no special man, but there’s no special woman either. I didn’t leave Richard for anyone. He left me!’
‘But Di—that is, I thought—’
‘Yes? What did you think?’ Olivia found she was shaking with anger now. ‘I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I wasn’t the guilty party. Unless the fact that Richard thought I was dull, and I couldn’t produce any children, constitutes a breach of the marriage contract in your eyes!’
Joe’s jaw dropped. ‘Then—what—?’
‘Oh, ask Diane,’ muttered Olivia disgustedly, striding back along the beach. Her eyes were smarting with unshed tears, but at least she now knew what Diane was telling everyone. No wonder she’d had no objections to Olivia’s coming here. She’d probably told her friends that Richard had invited her.
Joe caught up with her before she reached the place where the dock acted as a breakwater to the incoming tide. He looked frustrated, and although she was hot and angry she realised she could hardly put the blame on him. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, his lean frame blocking her path to the terrace. ‘I realise this must be painful for you. I’d no idea that Ricky wanted a divorce.’
Olivia took a deep breath. ‘It’s all right—’
‘It’s not all right.’ He regarded her with doubtful eyes. ‘Look, it’s probably my fault. I’ve—misunderstood the situation. I guess your coming out here—Well, you must admit it is unusual. But if Diane asked you—’
‘She did.’
‘Then I apologise.’
Olivia shrugged. ‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘It does matter.’ He sighed. ‘Look, this must be bloody painful for you.’
‘No.’ The last thing she wanted was for him to feel sorry for her. ‘It isn’t painful at all. I admit I thought it might be. But it’s not.’
Joe frowned. ‘So you’re not still harbouring some great passion for him?’
‘For Richard?’ If she hadn’t felt so emotional, she might have laughed. ‘No.’ Then, because she was afraid that if he continued looking at her like that she’d make a fool of herself again, she glanced at her watch. ‘Gosh, is that the time? I really ought to be getting back.’
She thought he looked as if he would have liked to object, but it was probably just wishful thinking on her part. And, when he moved aside, she started up the path. She forced herself to walk slowly, even though her nerves were urging her to rush madly back to the house and call a
cab. She hoped he wouldn’t offer to drive her back to the hotel. She badly needed some time alone.
She saw the Harley when she was crossing the grassy slope that led up to the patio. She hadn’t noticed it when they left the house because she’d been too busy admiring her surroundings, but it was propped on its stand, a few feet from the windows of the pool room.
She halted in surprise and Joe walked on a couple of steps before realising she wasn’t with him. ‘That’s—that’s a Sportster, isn’t it?’ she exclaimed, gazing at the motorcycle with undisguised admiration. And although she’d been desperate to leave before its gleaming frame reminded her nostalgically of home.
Joe’s brows arched. ‘You’re a fan?’ he asked, in surprise, and she found herself smiling into his enquiring face.
‘I’m an owner,’ she corrected him. ‘I’ve got an old 750 back home.’
‘No sweat!’ The tension that had been between them as they’d walked up from the beach was suddenly lifted, and Joe led the way over to the powerful road machine with evident pride. ‘Yeah,’ he said, ‘this is a fairly contemporary model. But I’ve got one of the old Ironheads back in Frisco.’
‘An Ironhead!’ Olivia was impressed. ‘Oh, mine’s just a fairly beaten-up Panhead with telescopic front forks. Big deal!’
‘Hey, those old Glides, as we called them, were pretty impressive,’ he declared energetically. ‘Have you had it long? When did you get interested in bikes?’
‘In Harleys,’ Olivia corrected him lightly, running an admiring hand over the motorcycle’s gleaming paintwork. ‘Oh—well, I guess I’ve always been interested, but I bought my machine when I got the royalties from my first book.’
Joe grinned, their earlier contretemps forgotten. ‘D’you want to ride it?’ he asked. ‘I can see the yearning in your eyes.’ He swung the bike off its stand, and tested its balance. ‘There you go. If you follow that path through the trees, it’ll bring you down to the beach.’
‘Oh, no.’ Olivia stepped back, shaking her head, one hand moving negatively from side to side. ‘Really, I couldn’t,’ she added ruefully. ‘Besides—the sand will get into the engine. It’s kind of you to offer, but—’
‘These bikes race on the beach at Daytona,’ said Joe drily. ‘But, if you’re nervous of having a skid, hop on the back.’ He patted the seat, and although Olivia knew it was reckless she found herself doing as he suggested, and a moment later he had started the powerful machine and pulled away.
‘Hold on,’ he yelled as they started down a tree-lined track that was narrow and undoubtedly dangerous for an unskilled rider, although Olivia felt no fear with Joe in charge. With a feeling of excitement, she slipped her arms about his waist and hung on tightly, revelling equally in the thrill of the ride and the nearness of his taut frame.
Once they reached the beach, he opened it up, and they sped along the damp sand so fast that the barrette came out of Olivia’s hair and blew away. But it was so exhilarating to feel the wind tearing at her scalp that she hardly noticed. She’d never ridden without a helmet before.
He turned at speed, the rear wheel sliding madly across the sand, and then he brought the powerful engine to a halt. ‘Your turn,’ he said, getting off the bike, and this time she didn’t object.
She didn’t drive as fast as Joe. She wasn’t used to having a pillion rider, for one thing, and for another she was intensely conscious of Joe’s hands at her waist. He didn’t cling to her, but he did grasp a handful of her hair and wrap it round his fingers. ‘It’s blinding me,’ he said, into her ear, and the bike wobbled as Olivia felt his hand against her neck.
She stopped again before the path started up to the house. ‘You take over now,’ she said, her cheeks scarlet from the wind.
‘Okay.’ He slid across the seat, and grasped the handlebars. ‘You did good,’ he added admiringly, and Olivia scrambled onto the back to hide her foolish pride.
They reached the patio all too soon, and when Joe parked the bike in its previous position Olivia was ready to swing her leg to the ground. ‘Wait.’ His hand gripped her bare leg just above her knee, successfully stopping her. He turned and looked at her over his shoulder, his eyes warmly sensual as they rested on her flushed face. ‘I just wanted you to know I’m—sorry about what happened before—’
‘It doesn’t matter—’
‘It does.’ His fingers splayed over her knee. ‘It wasn’t your fault, it was mine.’
Olivia’s knee quivered beneath his fingers, and to distract him from that stark betrayal she uttered a forced laugh. ‘You can tell I’ve spent too long at a desk. I’m out of condition,’ she said, hoping he’d believe her. But all he did was slide his hand up her thigh, his fingers invading the hem of her shorts.
‘I can tell when you’re lying,’ he said softly, and dampness pooled between her legs. God, could he smell the effect his words were having on her? Every pore in her body was oozing sexual need.
‘I’ve got to go,’ she said desperately, and abruptly he released her.
‘Yeah, I know,’ he muttered harshly as she fairly vaulted off the bike. ‘But I want you to know I’m glad you came here. And I hope you’ll want to see me again. . .’
Olivia dragged her thoughts back to the present. He’d not meant it, she assured herself. He was just being polite, letting her off the hook for taking advantage of the situation earlier on. He hadn’t wanted to send her back to the hotel thinking that what had happened had disturbed him. He’d probably been trying to ensure that she didn’t spill the beans to Diane.
As if she would!
Olivia sighed. She would say nothing to Diane. Apart from anything else, telling tales would require her to admit that she’d been at the Malibu house, and that was something she’d rather keep to herself. Stupid as it was, she preferred to keep the memory private. It had been an afternoon out of time, a few hours when she’d had him all to herself.
All the same, Diane’s question demanded an answer, and she’d spent far too long staring into space. ‘Yesterday afternoon? ’ she repeated lightly, as if it were difficult to remember. ‘Why? Were you trying to reach me?’ She manufactured an enquiring look. ‘I—went shopping.’
‘Did you?’ Diane’s response was ominous, but Olivia assured herself she couldn’t possibly know what she’d really done. Unless someone had seen B.J. when he’d come to collect her. Despite Joe’s protests, she’d insisted on coming back in a cab. ‘I was trying to reach you,’ Diane added coolly, crossing one silk-clad leg over the other. ‘Joe was too busy to see me, and I wanted to talk about the book.’
‘Really?’
Olivia bent her head and set her coffee cup carefully back on its saucer. She had the uneasy feeling that nothing about this morning was usual at all. First the coffee, and now this interrogation. Diane had never shown an interest in what she’d done before.
‘Yes, really,’ said Diane now, leaning towards her. Her blue eyes were steely sharp in her delicate face. ‘I think you’ll agree that we’ve covered most of the personal details. It occurred to me that you’d probably rather not discuss your husband’s attraction to me. Like the details about my other two marriages, I’m sure Phoebe can give you what you need. And, of course, you’ll want to visit the studios. She can arrange that, too.’
Olivia cleared her throat. ‘I see,’ she said, and caught her lower lip between her teeth. Then you don’t want me coming here again—on a regular basis, that is?’
Diane seemed to hesitate, and Olivia steeled herself for some outburst, but then the other woman merely shook her head. ‘No,’ she said, picking a thread of cotton from her short linen tunic. ‘It’s too—boring. I’ve got things to do, people to see, appointments to keep. Spending every morning closeted with you is much too demanding. I’m neglecting my—friends, and—Joe’s complaining because I’m never free.’
Olivia stiffened. Had that been deliberate? She was almost sure it had. ‘I’m sorry you find talking about yourself boring,’ she said tightly,
and then cursed herself for letting her feelings show.
‘I didn’t say that,’ retorted Diane. ‘I said spending every morning with you was boring. God, I don’t know what Ricky sees in you. What he ever saw, if it comes to that.’
Olivia got to her feet. ‘In that case—’ she began, feeling an intense sense of relief that it was all over, but before she could move away Diane uttered a remorseful sound.
‘Oh, please,’ she said, getting up now and offering her famous smile in conciliation. ‘I’m so sorry, Olivia. That was unforgivable. But Ricky gets me so on edge at times I don’t know what I’m doing. Really, that wasn’t what I intended to say at all.’
But it was what she was thinking, thought Diane uneasily, not at all convinced that her ex-husband was the only reason for this scene. ‘I think we both know that my coming here was a mistake,’ she declared swiftly. ‘I’m sorry if Richard’s making life difficult for you, but—’
‘No. Please.’ Diane’s smile had thinned now, and Olivia knew it wasn’t only her imagination that made her think that it didn’t reach her eyes. ‘Sit down, Olivia. Let me explain.’
‘There’s nothing to explain—’
‘There is.’ Diane’s tone was still polite, but Olivia had the feeling she was only keeping her temper with an effort.
‘I suppose the truth is I didn’t realise it would—upset Ricky so much. Having you here, I mean.’
‘Ms Haran—’
‘No, let me finish.’ Diane sank down onto the sofa again, and rather than continue standing over her Olivia felt compelled to resume her seat. ‘I—told Ricky I wouldn’t say anything; that I’d pretend this was my idea and not his. But, you’re obviously far too intelligent to be put off with half-truths, when you probably know how he feels for yourself.’
Olivia sighed. ‘I don’t think—’
‘Hear me out, please.’ Diane put out an imploring hand. ‘I’ve spoken to Phoebe, and she agrees with me. You can get anything you need from her. You can stay on at the hotel, of course—until the end of the week, at least. Then send me the first draft of the manuscript when it’s completed. I can fax any amendments I think are necessary.’