Sally Wentworth - Yesterday's Affair

by Sally Wentworth

  'There's hardly space for your marriage and your children,' Olivia said stiltedly, pointing with her fingertip.

  He closed the book abruptly, and put it away in its box, locked it with an ornate silver key. 'I'll drive you back to Stratford,' he told her shortly.

  But Olivia dropped her coat on to a chair, and when he turned towards her asked huskily, 'Aren't you going to kiss me goodbye?'

  The light enhanced the glow of her hair and the soft sheen of the velvet dress as it clung to the curves of her body. Her lips were parted a little, ripe for kissing, her eyes were dark and sensuous with desire, and she smelt as sweet and heady as roses in the sun.

  'Olivia.' Nick said her name pleadingly, his voice shaking with inner torment.

  Walking towards him, she put her hands on his shoulders and reached up to kiss his lips, lightly but linger- ingly. Then she opened her eyes and went to step back. Nick gave a strangled groan, then said, explosively, 'No!' and suddenly made a convulsive movement and grabbed hold of her, pulling her against him as he kissed her with fierce, starved compulsion. Olivia responded ardently, making him gasp, making the world whirl around them. Her hands went to his jacket, pushing it off, and thai his tie so that she could unbutton his shirt and run her hands over him. All the while she kept on kissing him, not giving him a chance to think, only to feel.

  He gave a great, shuddering groan when he felt her hands on his chest, and tried to lift his head away, but she moved her hips against his and felt a surge of triumph as she felt his body begin to harden. Only then did she lower her head and kiss his throat, his chest, letting her lips caress the poor reddened scars.

  'Don't! Olivia, you mustn't—'

  But she found his tiny, hair-circled nipples, and caressed them with her tongue, carrying him back into sensuousness.

  'Dear God, Olivia, don't do this to me.'

  But she went on kissing, caressing him until he groaned again, then she straightened up to kiss his mouth and said pantingly, 'Take me to bed, Nick, take me to bed.'

  'I can't. You don't understand.'

  'Yes, I do. I do understand. Let's go to bed, my darling.'

  But he caught her hands and held her away from him, his breath rasping in his throat. 'I don't want your pity, Olivia.'

  'Pity? Are you crazy? This is good, old-fashioned lust, and if you don't take me to bed this minute I'll—'

  'You don't have to pretend. I know that no woman would want to—'

  'For heaven's sake!' Olivia suddenly erupted into anger. 'I am getting just about sick to death of this. The only one around here who's doing any pitying is you. You're pitying yourself. I certainly don't!' And to prove it she grabbed his arm and sunk her teeth into it, hard.

  'Hey! You wildcat.' He shook her off.

  Putting her hands on her hips, Olivia glared at him. 'I thought you were a man, Nick, but you're not, you're just yellow. Well, OK, if you want to go through life feeling sorry for yourself, afraid to take a chance on living, then that's up to you. But as far as I'm concerned you've had your chance—because I want a man in my bed, not a coward!'

  She yelled the last word at him and strode across the room to pick up her coat, but as she reached out for it Nick caught hold of her and swung her round so that she fell against him. 'You little cat!' he said furiously. 'I'll show you that I'm still man enough for you.'

  His mouth came down on hers, brutal in its passion. Olivia struggled a little to increase his anger, but then he swung her up in his arms and was heading for his room.

  They didn't get that far. Olivia bit his bare shoulder until he cried out and threw open the door of the bedroom nearest the head of the stairs. Sweeping the dust- sheet from the huge four-poster bed, he dropped her on to it, and then they were rolling across its great width, fighting, kissing, pulling at each other's clothes. His hand found her zip and the velvet dress was thrown across the room, followed by Nick's belt. Olivia rolled on top of him, muttering, 'You coward,' against his lips, but at the same time pulling off his trousers.

  Then there were no more clothes between them and Nick was on top of her. Gasping, shaking, his body bathed in the sweat of anticipation, he put his hands on either side of her head and looked down at her face in the moonlight from the window. 'Olivia,' he panted. 'My injuries—I don't know if I can.'

  She kissed him fiercely. 'Well, there's sure as hell only one way to find out.' And she arched her body towards him.

  It was she who took control that first time, taking his body and leading him away from fear into growing excitement, loving him, caressing him, not letting him think, until his body began to throb with passion and he suddenly thrust forward of his own accord. Then it was as she remembered and yet new, at one with his strength and passion, her fingers gripping his shoulders as he carried her with him into the life-meaning heights of love.

  For a time afterwards they wore too exhausted to speak, but then Nick turned his head and kissed her temple. 'Oh, my sweet girl,' he said brokenly. 'I thought my life was as good as over, that there was nothing left. My father dead and you lost to me. And I was so afraid I'd never be able to make love again.'

  'Crazy idiot,' Olivia replied with calm satisfaction.

  Nick laughed and propped himself up on his elbow, became aware of his surroundings and laughed again. 'This is the State Bed, the best in the house. I bet it hasn't seen anything like this in the last hundred years or so.'

  'I think it's a very appropriate place.'

  Leaning forward, he kissed her gently on the lips. 'I've an idea you planned all this.'

  'Of course I did. You didn't think I was going to go tamely home, did you? You didn't stand a chance.'

  'You need your head examined.'

  'Only my head?' she asked pertly.

  With an appreciative chuckle, Nick put his arms round her and held her against the length of his body. 'I'm the one who needs his head examined for leaving you in the first place.'

  'Well, I certainly agree with that.'

  'Did you really miss me?'

  'Haven't I just proved it?'

  His arms tightened around her. 'Oh, yes, my sweet. Thank God you did. And thank you for finding me, proving what a fool I've been,' he said in deeply felt sincerity.

  Not wanting his gratitude, Olivia punched him. 'Not so much of the thanks. Having found the one guy in the world I wanted, I wasn't about to let you slip out of my hands. I'd got you nicely trained for my own benefit, not some other girl's.'

  'We were always good together, weren't we?'

  'Of course. Could you really doubt we'd be otherwise?'

  'Not with your determination.' He lifted his hand to stroke her face. 'Olivia, my love, could you possibly—?'

  'Yes,' she cut in instantly.

  'Hey, you haven't heard what I was going to say yet,' Nick protested.

  'If you weren't going to ask me to marry you, I'll kill you!'

  He burst into rich, full-throated laughter. 'Lord, how I love you! You've made the world worth living in again.'

  'It always will be.'

  'Yes—now.'

  'And to think how hard you tried to get rid of me, to make me go home,' she mocked.

  'I'd tried so desperately to put you out of my mind. I was forcing myself to come to terms with the fact that I would always have to live alone. And then you walked into my office. I knew I should have refused to fly you, but I just couldn't resist. I told myself that I'd just have the joy of being near you for a few weeks, and then you'd go home and I'd never see you again. I even tried to make you hate me.' His face sobered again but she didn't want that. 'Olivia, I—' He gave a sudden gasp as she reached out to caress him.

  'We're not going to lie here talking all night, are we?' she complained as she began to kiss him.

  'Most definitely not,' he agreed as he stroked her breast. And later, thickly, 'Maybe we'd better move on to a different bed.'

  'Suits me.' Lifting her up, Nick began to carry her out of the room, but slowly, kissing her as he
went. Olivia gave a purr of pleasure. 'Nick, just how many bedrooms do you have in this house?'

  'About sixteen, not counting the staff rooms.'

  'Well, I don't want to wear you out—so how about if we use the sixteen tonight and save the staff rooms till tomorrow?'

  'Are you sure I look OK?'

  'You look fantastic. Don't worry,' Nick assured her as Olivia got in the car. He leaned over to kiss her, his eyes alight with love and pride.

  It was only just over two weeks since they had made love on that never-to-be-forgotten night, but already Nick looked younger, less careworn. The lines of pain around his mouth were being replaced by the old laughter-lines, and there was such a spring in his step that his limp hardly showed. They hadn't gone flying the next day, had spent most of it in bed, until Olivia had gone back to her hotel, but only to pay her bill and collect her things. Then she had moved in with Nick, falling as much in love with the house as with him, and using the time he was at work to eagerly start on the library, getting rid of decades of dust, polishing and cleaning until it shone.

  'I just can't get used to wearing a hat,' Olivia said now, wriggling in her seat to have another look at herself in the mirror on the car's sun-visor.

  'You look beautiful. So beautiful I'm strongly tempted to stop and kiss you properly.'

  'Don't you date! I don't want my make-up mussed.'

  Nick gave a mock groan. 'You'll be having headachcs next.'

  "That might be an idea; since you've discovered you're still capable you never stop.'

  'I'm making up for lost time,' Nick returned with dignity.

  Olivia laughed. 'You can say that again!'

  , When they reached the bend in the drive she looked back as she always did so that she could have a last glimpse of the house. Nick noticed and his face hardened a little. It was the only contention between them, the only thing they'd argued over since they'd got back together. Nick, in his happiness and gratitude, wanted to give her everything possible and so had determined to sell Harnbury Hall. 'We wouldn't be happy with the constant worry of it,' he'd insisted. 'It would take every penny I could make, and even that wouldn't be enough. No, we'll sell it and the helicopter business and go back to New York so that you can go on with your career.'

  Appalled, Olivia had argued against it, loving the house, wanting to stay there. 'I don't want to go back to New York to live, I want to stay here with you.'

  'But what would we do with the house, short of borrowing a small fortune to put it in repair and then opening it to the public?'

  'There must be something. There has to be a way to make it pay for itself,' Olivia insisted.

  'I'm not going to turn it into a country-house hotel for up-market tourists who will block the lanes with their limos,' Nick said firmly.

  Olivia agreed with that whole-heartedly, but could think of nothing else. So they were at an impasse, but they'd pushed the problem aside because today was special. The morning was sunny and the countryside bursting into life, and they were on their way to Stratford to take part in Shakespeare's Birthday Procession. Olivia was wearing a cream full-skirted dress with a little jacket, and a pretty wide-brimmed straw hat decorated with flowers that Nick had picked for her from the garden. He was wearing a grey morning-suit with a top hat, and looked, in Olivia's stated opinion, a billion dollars.

  Today the world had come to Stratford to honour the local boy made good. Nick and Olivia joined the other invited guests in the garden of what had been New Place—the house where Shakespeare had spent his retirement and died, which had been pulled down in 1759 by a vicar who got tired of people wanting to see round it. Olivia thought it a shame, but rather liked the eccentricity of the vicar. This morning the garden was a carpet of flowers, not only from its own flowerbeds of daffodils and tulips, but from the dozens of wreaths, posies, and bouquets that were waiting to be carried in the procession.

  They were greeted by the Beadle of Stratford in his scarlet coat and gold-braided three-cornered hat, his mace in his hand. They met friends of Nick and recognised famous faces from the arts. There was a mayor in his chain of office, his Lady Mayoress by his side, there were local people and others who spoke in broken English. Everyone was dressed in his or her best: formality and colour, medals and pretty hats.

  A band arrived to head the procession as it formed up, the Beadle leading the way, and as they passed through the garden they were all handed the flowers they were to carry. Olivia was given a posy of white chrysanthemums and narcissi and sprays of yellow forsythia—simple flowers for the man who must have walked among them in his own garden.

  The procession left the garden and began its unhurried walk through streets lined with spectators. Accompanying them were local people dressed as characters from Shakespeare's plays, wearing costumes borrowed from the theatre. All along the route there were tall white flagpoles set into the ground, but the flags were still furled. Every time the procession reached one of the poles, one of the celebrities and a character in costume from that particular play would drop out and stand by it, waiting. Not being celebrities, Nick and Olivia stayed with the procession as it went down Waterside beside the river, where the drinkers had come out of the Dirty Duck to watch and clap, then up along Bridge Street to Henley Street to the house where Shakespeare was born.

  Here they all stood in silence as the national anthem was played, then there was a huge cheer that spread through the town as every flag was unfurled simultaneously—long, brilliant yellow banners, each depicting the head of Shakespeare and the name of one of his plays or sonnets. Church bells pealed, the band played, the town was full of glorious noise. The procession closed up again as the celebrities rejoined it, but as they left Shakespeare's Birthplace children from every school in Stratford came to follow them. And at the grammar school where Shakespeare had been taught, and Nick too, the boys surged out in their straw boaters and took over the procession, mingling with the dignitaries, leading it along the rest of the way.

  Olivia looked back along the cavalcade and her heart swelled; all pomp and dignity had gone, and everyone was smiling and laughing now that the children were there. What had been an international salute had now become the town's personal tribute, and all to honour not a king or a saint, but a playwright, a genius who was born and died here, but whose work would live on until the end of time.

  They came to the church where Shakespeare was buried, its steeple rising up above the trees, and walked up the long avenue of stone slabs, some carved with names, like the drunken gravestones that stood among the yew trees and the Scots pines. The procession slowly went through the porch and into the church that was already bedecked with flowers on altar, and window-sills, on every pew end and around every candlestick. The building was tall and majestic, full of light that shone through the stained-glass windows. As they moved slowly forward Olivia looked at the bright, shining faces of the children and thought of all the kids back home; how they would love to come to Stratford, to see this place and go to the plays. And what a place for students who were studying Shakespeare—to actually be here and walk the streets the Bard had walked.

  There was no religious service, just the simple handing over of the floral tributes. Olivia moved forward towards the chancel to hand in her flowers, and glanced up at the painted bust of Shakespeare set into the wall, with a scroll and a real white quill pen in his hand. And it was in that moment that the solution to their problem came to her. She handed over the posy, saw it laid with the others below the altar, where Shakespeare was buried, then turned to take Nick's hand and lift a glowing face to his.

  'I've had the most wonderful, brilliant idea,' she said excitedly, the minute they were outside again.

  'Such modesty,' he mocked, but his eyes were laughing. 'Go on; I can see you can't wait to tell me.'

  'We'll turn the house into a sort of college for foreign students who want to study Shakespeare and his times. It's near enough to Stratford, and the house and furnishings are contemporary. N
othing could be more perfect. And we'll let people use the house as the setting for films; you can earn really good money from that.' She gave his arm an excited shake. 'Don't you think it's a wonderful idea?'

  'Yes, but-'

  'No buts,' she interrupted firmly. Taking his hand, she led him apart from the crowd, down towards the river. Earnestly she said, 'Nick, I know you're only thinking of me, but please don't sell the house or give it away. It's a part of you, as much as I want to be a part of you. We can make a go of it together, I just know we can. We'll make it a lived-in place again, not just a series of dimly lit rooms and a neat garden where you can't walk on the grass. It will take time, perhaps all our lives, but we can do it because we both love it enough.' She looked at him eagerly, but Nick frowned, not answering, so she said exasperatedly, 'OK, put it this way: you come with the house.'

  His eyes widened and he burst into laughter. 'In that case I have no choice.'

  'None at all.'

  Nick leaned forward. 'Is it OK if I kiss the tip of your nose?'

  She pretended to consider. 'I guess, but make it quick—I have a date.'

  Putting his hands on her waist, Nick drew her to him, his eyes full of pride and tenderness as they held hers for a long moment. Then he lightly kissed her nose.

  'Thank you, Miss Grant.'

  'And thank you, Mr Vaux.'

  He glanced at his watch. 'And I have a date, too.'

  Taking her hand, he led her back through the churchyard, a couple of mallards from the river moving clucking out of their path.

  'Did you know there's a character in Shakespeare called Olivia?' he asked.

  'Yes, in TWelfth Night:

  'And did you know there's a character called Nicholas Vaux in Henry VIIIT

  'No! Really? You don't think…?' Olivia stopped and gazed at him in awed wonder.

  'It's possible. We were around here when Shakespeare was. And the eldest son has always been called Nicholas.' Olivia stared speechlessly, until Nick laughed and said, 'I thought you had a date?'