by Anne Mather
‘No,’ he snapped angrily, ‘because I don’t trust myself any more, and being sued in a divorce case is something I can do well without!’
CHAPTER NINE
ALIX didn’t sleep well, and she came downstairs on Saturday morning feeling dull and heavy. The fact that it was a foggy morning, too, did nothing to lighten her mood, and she wondered apprehensively if there would be another letter from Willie to complete her depression. It was a week since she had given her letters to Oliver to post, and she had half expected that Willie would reply by return, too, leaving her in no doubt as to his feelings. But there had been no word, and it crossed her mind fleetingly that Oliver might not have posted the letters at all.
When she entered the dining room, it was to find Lady Morgan and Melissa already seated at the breakfast table, and the little girl looked up immediately and said: ‘Daddy’s finished working, and he’s going to take us to Newcastle today!’ in excited tones.
Alix took her seat. ‘Lucky you!’ she said, giving Lady Morgan a faint smile. ‘But isn’t it foggy this morning?’
‘It will probably clear before lunchtime,’ remarked the older woman, offering Alix the coffee pot. ‘You look rather tired, Alix. Are you feeling well?’
Alix busied herself with the coffee cups. The previous evening when she had rejoined Lady Morgan in the drawing room, she had been the recipient of a series of contemplative glances, and it seemed that a night’s sleep had in no way diminished the older woman’s curiosity. But, as on the previous evening, Alix merely admitted to a slight headache and made no attempt to satisfy the questions underlying her words.
Melissa, noticing nothing amiss, went on, ‘Daddy came to my room this morning and told me we were going to Newcastle,’ she declared boastfully. ‘Grandmother thought he might be tired after working so hard, but he said it was time we did some Christmas shopping. Do you know, it’s only three weeks to Christmas?’
Alix hadn’t known, actually, although now as the child had said it she realised that December had come in unannounced, and that she had been at Darkwater Hall for over two weeks. Two weeks! She made an effort to shake the depression from her. So much had happened in such a short space of time, it was difficult to believe that it was only two weeks.
Myra was fetching more toast when Oliver appeared. In a navy corded suit and light grey shirt, he looked more formally dressed than Alix had seen him, and she wondered if this was his professional image, cool and detached, hooded lids revealing none of his inner feelings.
‘Daddy!’ Melissa slid off her chair to approach him, her limp hardly noticeable to Alix now, she was so used to seeing it. ‘Are you ready to go?’
‘Just about,’ he agreed, and Lady Morgan exclaimed, ‘But you haven’t had any breakfast!’
‘I had it earlier,’ he explained, meeting Alix’s gaze before she hastily looked away, ‘in the kitchen. Some people might say I was more at home in there.’
‘Whatever do you mean?’ Lady Morgan’s eyebrows arched. ‘Oliver! I don’t like that kind of talk. Now, we’re still going, I gather, in spite of the fog.’
‘I know the road, Grizelda,’ he remarked curtly, much to Melissa’s evident relief, and then turned back to Alix. ‘Will you come with us, Mrs Thornton?’
Alix looked up at him in confusion. ‘I—oh, no, I don’t think so.’
‘Why not? Do you have anything better to do?’
There was an edge to his voice which she didn’t understand, and she was half relieved when Lady Morgan said mildly: ‘It is Alix’s day off, you know, Oliver!’ and Melissa added that perhaps Mrs Thornton had something better to do, herself a little put out by his concern for the governess.
Alix could sense Oliver’s rising impatience, but not the cause of it. With a feeling of helplessness, she exclaimed, ‘I’ve got a headache, actually, Mr Morgan, and I don’t think trailing around shops will improve it, do you?’
He thrust his hands into the pockets of his trousers, and as he did so his jacket opened so that she could see, between the buttons of his shirt, the faint outline of an elastic plaster. Immediately, the vivid remembrance of what that plaster covered came back to her, and her eyes went to his face as if searching for a similar reaction. But he was wearing a curiously defeated expression, and her heart seemed to stop and then start again with erratic rapidity. It was crazy, because he entertained nothing but contempt for her, but at that moment she could have denied him nothing.
‘It’s possible that you need some air,’ he replied flatly. ‘But if you’d rather stay here…’
‘All right, I’ll come!’ she cried, aware that by obeying him she was displeasing both Melissa and her grandmother, but unable to retract the words now. ‘But I’m not ready.’
‘We can wait,’ Oliver responded calmly, and with a gesture of impotence she left the room.
It was going to be cold, and Alix dressed warmly, in a midi-length skirt that hid the tops of her suede boots, and her sheepskin coat. She had a matching hat and scarf and she put those on, too, winding the long scarf around her neck so that the ends trailed almost to the hem of her skirt.
When she went downstairs again only Melissa was waiting in the hall, and she surveyed her sulkily. Praying she was not going to have more trouble with the child, Alix looked down at Melissa’s feet, and said: ‘Don’t you have any boots at all?’
Her question disconcerted the little girl and she frowned down at her leather shoes. ‘No. I had some rubber boots once, but they got too small for me, and Makoto threw them away before we left for England.’
‘Then I think we’ll have to get you some, don’t you?’
Melissa’s eyes widened. ‘Could we?’
‘I don’t see why not.’ Alix hoped she wasn’t being presumptuous. But she didn’t think Oliver would refuse to buy his daughter a pair of boots.
Melissa was looking infinitely brighter, and when Lady Morgan came down the stairs, pulling on her gloves, Melissa greeted her with Alix’s suggestion.
The older woman’s eyes moved to Alix’s face. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘I think that’s a good idea, Melissa.’ She reached the hall and patted the child’s shoulder. ‘Where’s Daddy?’
Melissa made a gesture towards the door. ‘He’s gone to get the car,’ she explained, a momentary shadow crossing her face again as she seemed to remember that Alix was accompanying them. Then she smiled. ‘Come on—he’s probably waiting for us.’
Not knowing what to expect except the Landrover, Alix was reluctantly impressed by the sleek Mercedes that awaited them outside. She had never travelled in such a vehicle, and when Oliver came round to open the door for Lady Morgan, his derisive expression revealed his awareness of her feelings. He made Alix feel uncomfortable, as if she cared about his personal possessions, and she got into the back of the car beside Lady Morgan with flushed cheeks.
Melissa had scrambled into the front without waiting for permission, and was now busily locking herself into her seat belt. She insisted that Oliver wore his too, and he humoured her before setting the powerful car in motion.
Alix had a curious feeling as they left the grounds of the Hall. She supposed it was much the same sort of feeling that the Borderers must have had, emerging from their peel towers after a siege. A sense of escape that was tinged with a certain vulnerability, as if one was loath to exchange the security of confinement for the doubtful advantages of freedom.
The drive to Newcastle was accomplished without too much difficulty. The fog was still quite thick but the roads were comparatively clear at that hour of the morning, and Oliver kept the Mercedes’ speed down to a modest fifty. Any lack of conversation between the adults was made up for by Melissa’s excited chatter, and apart from an awkward silence when she blurted out Alix’s suggestion that she needed some boots, the journey was accomplished without incident.
Newcastle was crowded, however. Christmas shoppers thronged the streets and arcades, and although Oliver was able to park his car without difficulty in the re
served space he kept in the multi-storey car-park near Northumberland Street, it was obviously not going to be so easy to go shopping.
‘I think we’d better split up,’ he declared, when they emerged from the fume-laden atmosphere of the carpark, and Alix felt a momentary sense of shock. Was he going to suggest that she spent the day with him? Had he changed his mind about her, or did he simply not trust her?
She was quickly informed. ‘I think Melissa ought to go with Mrs Thornton,’ he said, ignoring the little girl’s instant protest. ‘She knows the sort of things the child needs, and it’s important that Melissa should have some warm clothes for the winter.’
‘But, Daddy, you said we were spending the day together!’ his daughter exclaimed disappointedly. ‘Why can’t we all go shopping?’
‘It’s too much of a scrum,’ he said, glancing round at the hurrying hordes of people. ‘Melly, don’t be difficult. I’m not saying we can’t all meet for lunch somewhere, and maybe this afternoon we can go to the Toy Fair.’
‘The Toy Fair?’ Melissa’s lips lifted again. ‘Oh, could we? Could we, Daddy?’
‘If you’re a good girl this morning,’ agreed her father dryly. He turned to Alix. ‘Do you think you could cope with buying a child’s wardrobe? And some boots, as you suggested?’
Alix held up her head. ‘Are those your instructions?’ she inquired stiffly.
His eyes darkened with some emotion she could not identify, but there was no mistaking the hardness of the fingers that gripped her arm under cover of the pressing mass of people. ‘Alix!’ he muttered, his warm breath fanning her ear. ‘Don’t make this any more difficult than it already is!’
Alix looked down, and forcing a smile to her lips, she deliberately stood on his toe. A grimace of pain crossed his face as he took a backward step, and bestowing a triumphant look in his direction she took Melissa’s hand.
‘That sounds like fun, doesn’t it?’ she asked the little girl, and reluctantly Melissa agreed.
She was aware that their exchange had not gone entirely unnoticed by Lady Morgan, but she couldn’t help it. Oliver couldn’t have it all his own way—insisting that she needed the outing, and then unloading the necessity of buying clothes for his daughter on to her shoulders. Had that been his intention all along? Had that been the reason for his determination that Alix should join them? Didn’t he care that there were dozens of telephones scattered about the metropolitan area—that she had only to dial a reverse-charge call to betray his hitherto closely-guarded secret? Or was the effort not worth the candle?
Now he had recovered himself sufficiently to pull out his wallet and extract a handful of notes. He handed them to Alix, saying curtly, ‘This should be enough. If it’s not, pay a deposit on the things and I’ll settle the balance after lunch.’
Alix took the money rather unwillingly. She didn’t like the idea of Oliver giving her money. It smacked too strongly of collusion, of payment for services rendered. But she was being ridiculous, and she knew it, so she took the notes from him and stuffed them into the capacious depths of her shoulder bag.
‘Right…’ Oliver had pulled on a fur-lined jacket over his suit and now fastened the buttons determinedly. He put a hand on his aunt’s shoulder and said: ‘Where shall we eat? Do you want to go to an hotel, or would you like some Chinese food?’
Lady Morgan glanced over her shoulder at him. ‘Oh—Chinese food, I think,’ she said. ‘How about you, Melissa? Do you like Chinese food?’
‘Melly likes anything,’ said her father abruptly, looking at Alix. ‘Mrs Thornton?’
‘Count me out. I’ll just get a sandwich in Wool-worths,’ she exclaimed offhandedly, and saw the familiar impatience in the whitening of his knuckles.
‘Chinese it is, then,’ he said harshly, ‘I’ll book a table for four. Wah Chin’s at one o’clock, Mrs Thornton. Don’t be late.’
In spite of Melissa’s initial antagonism and her own sense of indignation, surprisingly Alix enjoyed the morning. They found a boutique in one of the larger stores that stocked exactly the kind of modern children’s clothes that they were looking for, and in a short time Melissa was modelling pants suits and dresses, skirts and sweaters, and an adorable jersey coat with a pleated back that flared as she moved. She soon forgot to be self-conscious about her leg, and paraded up and down eagerly for Alix’s benefit. She liked trousers best, for obvious reasons, but the dresses were so pretty, with wide sleeves to take a blouse or a sweater worn underneath. There was a leather skirt and waistcoat that fastened with braided thongs, and pretty jeans with daisies embroidered around the pockets and hems.
The sales assistant was soon enchanted by Melissa’s enthusiasm, and spent more time than she should have done in ransacking the racks of small garments for every article that would fit her.
At last, after much consultation, it was decided that they would have two dresses and a pants suit, the leather two-piece, the green jersey coat, and last, but not least, the daisy-patterned jeans. Melissa had never had jeans before, and she watched the assistant intently as she folded everything into large plastic carriers.
There was just time left to go to the shoe department, and Melissa saw at once the boots she would like. They were made of red leather, and fastened with laces instead of zips, and Alix decided to add a pair of yellow gumboots to her already arm-aching load, so that Melissa should not be able to complain of wet feet after any walk they might care to take.
It was a few minutes after one when they entered the restaurant, and Melissa, skipping ahead, saw her father and grandmother at once. They were seated at a table in one of the cubicles that provided privacy all around the outer circle of the restaurant, but when Oliver saw his daughter he left his seat to come and take the plastic bags from Alix’s tired hands.
‘You should have left them to be collected!’ he exclaimed, examining her flushed face with eyes that showed a certain impatient concern.
‘I want to show you what I’ve got, Daddy!’ cried Melissa, tugging at his arm. ‘We got heaps of things!’
‘Not really,’ said Alix deprecatingly, looking forward to sitting down, and urged Melissa ahead of them as Oliver escorted her to the table he had reserved.
‘Thank you,’ he added, in an undertone, and she flashed him a helpless look before going to take the seat on the banquette next to Lady Morgan.
But Oliver, who had stowed the carriers beneath the seats, gestured that Melissa should sit beside her grandmother, and much against her better judgment Alix found herself sitting beside Oliver and opposite Lady Morgan.
Oliver took his seat beside her, and then said: ‘Would you like a drink?’
Alix hesitated, and Lady Morgan, as if feeling obliged to say something, observed: ‘A dry Martini is always a good aperitif, I always think.’
‘Thank you, I’ll have a Martini, then,’ agreed Alix nervously, and Oliver nodded.
Melissa soon recovered her high spirits. Turning to her grandmother, she exclaimed: ‘I’ve got some jeans! Just like Mrs Thornton’s, except mine have got daisies on the pocket.’
Lady Morgan sipped her own Martini. ‘That’s not all, I hope,’ she remarked dryly, and the little girl giggled.
‘Oh, no! I got some dresses—and a coat—and a suit—’
‘Keep your voice down, Melly,’ reproved her father good-humouredly. ‘Do you want the whole restaurant to think that you hadn’t an item of clothing to your name until this morning?’
‘No, but honestly, Daddy, we found some pretty things.’
‘I’m so glad.’
‘Mrs Thornton knew exactly where to go.’
‘I thought she might,’ murmured Oliver quietly as the waiter returned with Alix’s Martini and a lemonade for Melissa. He, like his aunt, had ordered his lager earlier, and now he asked for the menu.
There was a great variety of meals to choose from, but Alix, whose throat was feeling particularly tight with the awareness of Oliver’s thigh only a couple of inches away from hers on
the banquette, found it difficult to think about food. She wasn’t especially hungry, and she would have preferred the anonymity of a sandwich at a supermarket snack bar.
Melissa was making a great show of choosing her lunch. It was an exciting event for her, eating in a public restaurant, and she and her grandmother pored over the menu with evident enthusiasm.
While they were doing so, Alix opened her bag and gathered the remainder of the notes to give back to Oliver. But when she showed them to him, he said softly, ‘Keep them as a gift. Buy yourself something you would like.’
‘No.’ Alix shook her head, and thrust the notes fiercely into his hand. ‘I don’t need payment for shopping with Melissa,’ she declared, in an angry undertone. Nor—nor for anything else!’
Oliver’s mouth tightened, but he took the notes and pushed them carelessly into his coat pocket. ‘How about your salary?’ he inquired caustically, but she concentrated on the menu and wouldn’t look at him again.
But his mention of her salary brought the whole aspect of her situation here back into perspective. The point was, how could she accept a salary when she was already being paid by the magazine? And how could she accept payment from the magazine when she wasn’t doing the job she was being paid to do?
‘What are you going to have?’
Oliver was speaking to her once more, his voice cooler than before, and she looked at him tormentedly, aware that no matter what happened her life would never be the same again. She thought of all the lies and prevarications that lay between them, manufactured for her protection, and wished, with all the power that was in her, that she dared to tell him she was not the person she claimed to be. What would be his reaction? she wondered apprehensively, remembering his uncertain temper. He would be furious, of course, but would he try and understand her position? Would he appreciate the fact that she had kept what she had learned to herself, or would he see her enforced silence as simply a lack of opportunity? And how could she prove to him that it wasn’t? Unless she told him about Willie…