by Anne Mather
Her jaw dropped. ‘What are you doing here?’ she exclaimed, rather too loudly, and then, at his gesture of protest, she lowered her tone. ‘I mean...’ She glanced with some embarrassment at the stewardess who was watching them. ‘Why are you on this flight?’
Richard leaned back in his seat. ‘Why do you think?’ he asked impatiently, waving at the stewardess. ‘Scotch,’ he said, when the woman approached him, then, glancing down at what Olivia was drinking, an amused smile crossed his face. ‘White wine,’ he remarked triumphantly. ‘D’you want another one of those?’
‘No, thank you.’ Olivia controlled her temper with difficulty. This was not a good time for Richard to try and rekindle their relationship. ‘I asked you what you were doing on this flight.’
‘And I told you,’ retorted Richard comfortably, settling more comfortably in his chair as the stewardess went to get his drink.
‘No. You said, why did I think you were travelling,’ Olivia corrected him tersely. ‘And I really don’t have an answer for that.’
Richard’s mouth turned down. ‘If you say so.’
‘I do say so.’ Olivia closed her eyes for a moment in an effort to keep her emotions in check. Then she opened them again and looked at him coldly. ‘Where’s your wife? Or is that a leading question?’
‘You know where she is,’ muttered Richard sulkily. ‘Bonnie told you.’ And then, when Olivia frowned, he gave a defensive shrug. ‘I was there. When she made the call,’ he explained offhandedly. ‘She told me you were travelling on this flight. And—’ He thought for a moment, and then appended firmly, ‘I decided to keep you company.’
‘To keep me company?’ Olivia was appalled. The last thing she wanted was Richard doing anything for her.
‘Well, I have relatives in London, too,’ he declared indignantly. ‘It must be nine months since I saw my old man.’
‘Really?’ As Richard had seldom visited his father when he lived in England, that was hardly relevant. And she didn’t believe that was his excuse for travelling now.
‘Yes, really.’ The stewardess brought his Scotch, and he took a moment to thank her before continuing. ‘But I admit I took the chance to see you again. We couldn’t talk before, what with Manuel listening in and so on. And that night in the bar you didn’t give me a chance.’
‘Oh, Richard...’ Olivia spoke wearily now, wondering if she’d ever convince him she wasn’t interested in him any more. ‘We’ve said all we had to say. Whatever was between us is over. You’re married to Diane, and I think you should give your marriage a second chance.’
‘A second chance!’ Richard sipped his Scotch derisively. ‘Liv, I’ve told you Diane and I are washed up. Ever since Joe Castellano came on the scene, she’s been running circles round herself trying to please him. I know he’s invested a lot of money in her last two films, but that’s not why she’s been beating a path to his door.’
Olivia told herself she didn’t want to hear this, but there was a strange kind of satisfaction in proving to herself that he’d been fooling her all along. ‘You said—you said they were having an affair,’ she murmured, trying to sound offhand, ‘but how do you know that?’ She moistened her lips. ‘I read in a magazine that he was—seeing someone else.’
‘Anna Fellini,’ said Richard at once, evidently knowing all the details. ‘Yeah, that’s the woman his mother would have liked to welcome into the family.’ He paused. ‘It’s the usual story: Giovanni Castellano—Joe’s father—and Paolo Fellini were partners. Giovanni’s dead now, but if Joe married Anna, her father would make his share of the vineyards over to him.’
Olivia expelled a low breath. ‘I see.’
‘But it’s not going to happen,’ continued Richard positively. ‘Much as Castellano likes money, my guess is he likes Diane more.’
Olivia nodded. ‘And—you’ve got proof?’
‘Sure have.’ Richard was smug. ‘I’ve got a picture of them, together, in San Diego. And when I say together I mean together, if you get my drift.’
Olivia felt sick. ‘You mean—?’
‘Yeah. You got it. Naked, in bed; the whole nine yards.’ His lips twisted. ‘And Diane knows that picture is going to cost her. If she wants a divorce, she’s got to make me happy first.’
Olivia stared at him. ‘You wouldn’t—’
‘Wouldn’t I?’ Richard sneered. ‘Don’t you believe it. It was their mistake using that sleazy motel in the first place.’ He chuckled, but it wasn’t a pleasant sound. ‘I heard her making the arrangements. That’s how I was able to fix the pictures. I swear to God, you can get anything in L.A. if the price is right. She thought I was out, but I was listening on the extension in—in another room.’
He faltered over those last few words, and Olivia wondered what he had been about to say that he’d thought better of. Maybe the extension he’d been listening in on had been in someone else’s room, she reflected sagely. Like Bonnie Lovelace’s, for instance. Olivia knew she had rooms at the Beverly Hills mansion. And Richard had used that ‘I swear to God’ phrase again that Olivia had heard Bonnie use so many times before.
But this possible proof of Richard’s duplicity didn’t mean anything to her. It was what he’d said about Joe and Diane that made her feel sick at heart. She’d never have believed that Joe would leave himself open to any kind of extortion. And why use a motel in San Diego, when he owned a house in Malibu?
‘I’ve shocked you, haven’t I?’ Richard said now, finishing his Scotch and ringing for the stewardess to order another. ‘Well, don’t worry. If there’s any scandal, it won’t reflect badly on me.’
‘But have you told him?’ asked Olivia, unable to prevent the automatic question. ‘I mean, this is blackmail, isn’t it? Isn’t that a criminal offence?’
‘I guess.’ Richard was indifferent. ‘But Diane’s not going to let it get that far. It’s her butt that’s recognisable, not his.’
Olivia sucked in a breath. ‘Are you saying it might not be—Joe Castellano, then?’ she ventured faintly.
‘Hell, no.’ Richard was adamant. ‘It’s him all right. He used his own name when they checked in; can you believe it?’ He snorted. ‘Mr and Mrs Castellano! And Diane thinks I’m a dope.’
Olivia hesitated. ‘Well—what if it’s someone else using that name?’ she suggested, and Richard’s expression darkened as she spoke.
‘Oh, yeah,’ he said accusingly. ‘You’d like to believe that. Don’t think I don’t know you had the hots for him yourself.’
Olivia gasped. ‘I beg your pardon—?’
‘Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about.’ Richard’s lips twisted. ‘I saw you myself that afternoon at Malibu.’ He smiled at her confusion, but there was no humour in it. ‘Oh, yeah, I saw you tearing along the beach on the back of his Harley.’
Olivia was horrified. ‘But—how—?’
‘I was in the lobby of the hotel when that goon of his came to fetch you,’ explained Richard carelessly. ‘After the way you cut me up that morning, I knew there had to be a reason. So I staked out your hotel and bingo!—there he was.’
Olivia swallowed. ‘I can’t believe you’d do a thing like that!’ she exclaimed, even as her mind was racing. She supposed she should be grateful he hadn’t seen them at the house. She remembered thinking that the solarium was too exposed for lovemaking.
‘Desperate needs take desperate measures,’ he misquoted smugly. ‘Diane was extremely interested to hear where you’d been.’
Olivia blinked. ‘You told Diane?’
‘Oh, yeah.’ Richard picked up the glass the stewardess had just set beside him and viewed her over the rim.
‘Why’d you think she changed her mind about you staying on at the hotel? If there’s one thing Diane can’t stand it’s competition.’
Olivia couldn’t believe it. ‘You told Diane,’ she said again. ‘For God’s sake, why?’
‘Because I knew we weren’t going to get it together in Lala-land,’ he res
ponded. ‘And Castellano was a complication I couldn’t afford.’
Olivia was stunned. ‘I still can’t believe you’d do this. Jeopardise your marriage and my career because you can’t accept a simple truth. Richard, I told you, I don’t love you, I don’t care if I never see you again. You had no right to interfere in my life. No right at all.’
Richard’s mouth took on a sullen slant. ‘You’re just saying that because you’re angry with Diane. Once you’ve had time to think about it, I know you’ll see I’m right. We were meant for one another, Liv, only I was too blind to see it before. And with the settlement Diane’s promised me—’
‘Richard, read my lips,’ said Olivia grimly, staring at him. ‘When we land in London, I never want to see you again. I’m sorry if you’re not happy with Diane, but that’s not my problem. Now, I suggest you go back to your own seat.’
Richard scowled. ‘You don’t mean that.’
‘I do mean it.’
‘You’re wasting your time if you think Castellano will come after you,’ Richard blurted suddenly. ‘I told him you and I had decided to get back together, and that I was accompanying you home.’
‘When?’ Olivia gulped. ‘When did you talk to Joe about our relationship?’
‘Last night, of course,’ said Richard sulkily. ‘Where were you, by the way? When I phoned the suite the second time lover-boy answered the phone.’
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
JOE’S house was in Marin county, north of San Francisco. The houses here had magnificent views of the water, with the green hills surrounding the Berkeley campus visible across the bay. On a clear day, that was, the taxi driver had told Olivia cheerfully. The bay area could be foggy, especially in the height of summer. But it was always beautiful, he’d added proudly. Like all the locals she’d met so far, he never wanted to live anywhere else.
Which was probably why Joe lived here, too, she reflected tensely. That, and the fact that the vineyard he owned was in the Napa Valley, which wasn’t far away.
Not that she wanted to think about the vineyard. To do so meant thinking about Anna Fellini, too, and she was one obstacle she was not yet prepared to face. For the present, it was enough to know that Joe wasn’t with Diane. That her departure for Malibu had had nothing to do with him.
But that didn’t mean she wasn’t a fool for coming here, Olivia acknowledged. In fact, if she’d stopped to think what she was doing, she’d never have found the courage to book her flight. And, after all, she had no proof that Joe would want to see her. Only an instinct that was getting weaker by the minute.
Yet, when Richard had dropped his bombshell, she’d been determined to do something. Even if it was only speaking to Joe on the phone, and telling him what a liar her ex-husband was. It had seemed important that she should explain to him that it was not because of Richard that she was leaving. That she’d assumed he knew all about Diane’s decision before he came to the hotel.
Getting rid of Richard at the airport hadn’t been a problem. After she’d told him what she really thought of him, he’d barely spoken to her for the rest of the trip. He hadn’t moved back to his own seat but she knew that was because he was too embarrassed to do so. He’d evidently told the stewardess they were old friends.
Friends!
Olivia had wanted to kill him. She’d told herself she should have suspected something was wrong when she got back to the suite and found Joe was gone. But the truth was, she’d had so little confidence in her own sexuality that, even though she’d tried to reach him by phone, she hadn’t really believed he’d want to see her again.
Back at her flat, with Henry purring his welcome, she’d wondered what she could do. No one, least of all Diane and her cohorts, was going to give her Joe’s number. She’d already faced that problem in L.A.
But that was when she’d thought of BJ. Benedict Jeremiah Freemantle. She was unlikely to forget his name. How many Benedict Jeremiah Freemantles were there likely to be in California? Although Joe’s number had been unlisted, she couldn’t believe B.J.’s would be as well.
And it wasn’t. As she’d suspected, although his employer divided his time between Los Angeles and San Francisco, B.J.’s apartment was in L.A. He probably had a room at each of Joe’s houses, too, just as Bonnie did at Diane’s. But his own home was in Westwood, just like Phoebe’s.
She’d rung B.J. later that same evening. But it was lunchtime in L.A. and all she’d got was his answering service. However, she’d been able to leave a message, asking him to call her, and she’d spent the next twenty-four hours praying that he would.
B.J. had eventually returned her call two days later. He’d been out of the city, he said, and he’d only just got back. He’d obviously been reluctant to tell her anything about his employer, but when Olivia had explained that it was a personal matter he’d seemed more suspicious than anything else.
It wasn’t until Olivia had virtually revealed her feelings for Joe that he’d shown a little more interest. Joe wasn’t still in L.A., he’d told her. He’d returned to San Francisco four nights ago. The same night he’d spoken to Richard, Olivia had realised numbly, wondering if she was a fool to pursue him like this.
But something had been driving her on, and somehow she’d succeeded in convincing BJ. that she had to speak to his employer again. But although he’d been prepared to give her Joe’s address in San Francisco so she could write to him he had drawn the line at giving her his phone number.
And it was as she was putting down the phone that she had had this brainwave. The brainwave that had caused her to book herself a flight for the following day. She’d never been to San Francisco, she’d consoled herself as she’d paid her fare. If Joe refused to see her, she could always use the trip as research.
Not that that was a very convincing argument, she conceded now. She had the feeling that if Joe refused to speak to her she’d want to take the first flight home. She’d always preferred to lick her wounds in private, and her little flat had never seemed more appealing than it did right now.
‘You sure this is the place you want?’
The taxi driver was looking at her reflection in the rear-view mirror, and Olivia guessed that with her cream cotton shirt, mud-brown skirt and bare legs she didn’t look as if she’d be at home in these sprawling estates. Or perhaps he’d taken his cue from the small hotel where she was staying. She remembered now that he’d looked rather shocked when she’d given him the address.
‘I’m sure,’ she said, though her voice was constricted. Her nerves were tight enough without him voicing her own fears. Dear God, she must have been crazy coming here on the strength of a brief—if passionate—association. Would he even care that Richard hadn’t been telling the truth?
A few minutes earlier, they’d left Highway 101 and the taxi was now descending a steep curve towards the water. Below them, she could see the roofs and main street of a small town. In the guidebook she’d bought at the airport, she’d read about Sausalito and Tiburon, and the ferry that plied across San Francisco Bay.
‘Okay. Well, this is it,’ the driver told her suddenly, and Olivia dragged her eyes from the hillside that fell away sharply on their left to the solid wooden gates that faced the road.
The roof of a house could be glimpsed between the trees that grew so thickly beyond the gates. Olivia could see turrets rising above the trees, and a cream-painted façade laced with wooden slats. It looked dignified and imposing, and nothing like the house at Malibu. Yet they each shared the quality of being unique in their own particular way.
And impressive, thought Olivia ruefully, avoiding the driver’s eyes as she got out of the car. And how was she supposed to get inside? she wondered. As far as she could see, there was no bell or intercom in sight.
‘D’you want me to hang around, in case no one’s home?’ The man took the dollars she’d offered him but he didn’t immediately pull away.
‘I—Oh, no.’ Despite the distance she was from the nearest town, Olivia was lo
ath to keep him hanging about. Besides, she thought, she could do without an audience if she was forced to abandon her trip.
‘Okay.’
With some reluctance, the man put the vehicle into ‘drive’ and moved off down the road. He was probably hoping to pick up a fare down by the harbour, she decided, wondering if she’d made a huge mistake.
The sound of a car’s horn almost scared the life out of her. While she had been fretting about the wisdom of letting the taxi go, a huge estate car had been bearing down on her, its flashing light indicating that it wanted to turn in at the gate. She was in its path, she realised immediately, but as she stepped aside another thought occurred to her. Who was driving the estate car? she wondered tensely. This was Joe’s house. Could it be him?
It wasn’t. It was a woman at the wheel, but despite her apprehension Olivia knew instantly who it was. Mrs Castellano, she acknowledged incredulously. She’d only seen her picture once, but her resemblance to Joe—or, rather, his to her—made the identification unmistakable.
Olivia was trying to think of some way to introduce herself, when the woman stopped the car beside her and rolled down the window. ‘Yes?’ she said tersely. ‘Can I help you?’
Olivia licked her lips. Having the initiative taken out of her hands had startled her somewhat, and she struggled to find something suitable to say. ‘Um—is—is Mr Castellano here?’ she asked lamely. ‘Mr Joe Castellano? I’d like to see him if he is.’
‘Joseph?’
Olivia groaned. Of course, his mother would call him Joseph. ‘Yes—Joseph,’ she agreed, rather weakly. ‘Do you think you could tell him I’m here?’
Mrs Castellano frowned. ‘Could I tell him who’s here?’ she asked pointedly, her eyes—darker eyes than Joe’s, Olivia noticed—taking a brief inventory of Olivia’s appearance.
‘Oh—Olivia,’ she said hurriedly. ‘Olivia Pyatt. I—I met your son when I was working in—’