by Anne Mather
The recorded voice had finished and the bleep advising her to say her piece had sounded. If she was going to answer, now was the time to do it. Or did she want Conor to think there was some pervert on the line?
Expelling her breath rather quickly, she hurried into speech. ‘Conor, um—this is Olivia—–’
’Liv!’ Conor’s instant response had her sucking in her breath again in sharp surprise. ‘Live, are you still there? Sorry about this, but I was in the shower. I heard the phone ringing, but it took me a couple of minutes to grab a towel.’
’Oh.’
Olivia couldn’t think of anything else to say at that moment, and he went on, ‘I was going to ring you later. Didn’t you get my message this morning?’
’Well—yes.’ Olivia realised how pathetic she must sound, admitting she had been too eager to speak to him to wait for his call. ‘It was just that—–’ she sought desperately for an excuse ‘—well, that I’m going to have dinner, and I didn’t want you to ring when—when I wasn’t here.’
’You’re having dinner now?’ Conor sounded impatient. ‘Liv, it’s only seven o’clock!’
’I know that.’ Olivia could hear the impatience in her tone now, but it was just a defence against the disbelief she could hear in his. ‘Anyway, I—I just wanted to take the opportunity to thank you again for taking pity on me last night. It was good of you and—and Sharon—to let me share your evening. I’m sure I cramped your style, and I want you to know I appreciate the trouble you—–’
’What trouble?’ Conor cut into her pitiable monologue to voice his own frustration, and Olivia wondered fleetingly if Sharon was listening to what they were saying. ‘For Christ’s sake, Liv, stop talking as if what I did was an act of charity or something. I wanted to spend the evening with you, for God’s sake! I was hoping you’d let me do the same tonight.’
Olivia swallowed. ‘Tonight?’ she echoed faintly.
’Yes, tonight.’ He sighed. ‘Look, I suppose I should have rung earlier, but things have been pretty hectic today. We had an emergency at the clinic, and I didn’t get away until after six. Then, when I got home, I went straight into the shower. But my intention was to get dressed and come down to see you. I guess I thought you’d find it harder to turn me down if we were face to face.’
Olivia’s tongue circled her dry lips. ‘I see.’ But she didn’t really. Was he asking her to spend another evening with himself and Sharon?
’I thought you might be agreeable to me fetching you back here,’ he appended, adding to her confusion. His voice took on a persuasive note. ‘We could have a pizza out of the freezer, or I have been known to produce a fairly decent omelette. What d’you say?’
Olivia shook her head. ‘I—don’t know—–’
’What don’t you know?’ Conor sounded impatient again. ‘Damn, I knew I should have come to see you myself.’ He paused. ‘Look, give me five minutes to put on some clothes, and I’ll come down to the harbour. I won’t be long, and you can tell me what you want to do over a half of lager—–’
’No!’
’Liv—–’
’I mean …’ Olivia decided that anything was better than spending the evening dodging her ex-husband. ‘I—I will have dinner with you. But I’ll meet you outside in—in twenty minutes?’
’Make that fifteen,’ amended Conor roughly, and, without giving her a chance to argue, he rang off.
Of course, as soon as he had done so, Olivia’s doubts returned. It was all very well wanting to evade Stephen’s company, but was spending another evening with Conor a sensible alternative? After what had happened the night before, she ought to be avoiding anything that might aggravate her awareness of him, and what would Mrs Drake think if she found out that Mrs Perry was going out without her husband?
Deciding it was too late now to be having such thoughts, Olivia surveyed the clothes she had brought with her with critical eyes. She couldn’t wear the same dress she had worn the night before, and if they were eating at home something more casual was obviously called for. The trouble was that clothes had not figured high on her agenda when she decided she needed to get away. In consequence, she had filled her suitcase with the first warm items that had come to hand, and she realised now how limited she was.
The ski pants she had worn the morning she walked up to Gull Rise seemed the most attractive. Black, and narrow-fitting, they clung to her slim hips like a second skin. But at least she had no unsightly bulges, she thought wryly. Even if she knew she could have done with a few more pounds of flesh on her bones.
Another chunky sweater completed the outfit: a creamy Aran knit, whose wide neckline tended to slip off her shoulder. It was just as well she didn’t need to wear a bra, she thought. She certainly hadn’t thought to pack a strapless one.
Sitting at the dressing-table a few moments later, trying to find some more attractive way to do her hair, a wave of self-disgust swept over her. What was she doing? she asked herself, dragging the coarse curls back into their usual knot. Conor already knew what she looked like. There was no point in trying to look younger than she was. Sharon would know immediately what she was doing, and did she really want to lose the slight advantage that being older gave her?
She was putting on her coat when someone knocked at her door. Conor? she wondered, her heart racing, but when she called, ‘Yes?’ it wasn’t Conor’s voice that answered.
’Ollie!’ Stephen’s irritating abbreviation of her name came clearly through the panels, and she was inordinately glad she had locked the door earlier. ‘Ollie, are you ready? I thought we might go down and have a drink before dinner.’
Olivia caught her breath. Just like that, she mused incredulously. He really thought they could behave as if nothing had happened. A drink; dinner. My God, she wouldn’t be surprised if he was considering asking her to spend the night with him! Why not? she reflected cynically. Sleeping with a woman didn’t mean that much to Stephen. He had done it often enough, goodness knows!
’I …’ Her hands tortured the lapels of her coat, as she fought back the urge to tell him what he could do with his invitation. ‘Well—–’ she licked her lips ‘—I’m not ready yet, Stephen. Why—why don’t you just go ahead? I’ll—see you later.’ And so she would. Though perhaps later than Stephen imagined.
’OK.’ Clearly the prospect of another pint of Tom Drake’s lager was attractive enough to save any argument. ‘I’ll be in the bar.’
’Fine.’
Olivia was amazed he couldn’t hear the sound of her heart beating. It seemed to be pounding in her chest. But, happily, her ex-husband had no reason to assume that she meant anything other than his interpretation of her words, and she heard the creak of the banister as he started down the stairs.
Only then did she expel her breath on a long sigh. Dear lord, she breathed, and she had left London to avoid any more stress! Now she had the problem of getting out of the inn without either Stephen or the Drakes observing her departure.
In the event, it was easier than she had anticipated. There were already several customers, as well as Stephen, in the bar, and at this hour of the evening Mrs Drake was, as usual, busy in the kitchen. The inn supplied a modest selection of bar meals, as well as those that were served in the dining-room, and, although many of them were of the instant variety, Mrs Drake liked to supervise their preparation. No doubt she was preparing something special to celebration her husband’s arrival, reflected Olivia ruefully. Well, Stephen would enjoy it anyway. She just hoped he didn’t see her absence as an excuse to pump the landlady about her possible whereabouts.
It was raining outside, but at least it wasn’t as cold as it had been the previous evening. Nevertheless, Olivia hoped she wouldn’t have to wait long before Conor got there. Even with her coat collar tipped high about her ears, she felt a drop of dampness invading her neck.
When a car skidded to a halt beside her, she drew back in some alarm. But then, recognising the muddy Audi, she stepped forward again, bare
ly avoiding the passenger door, which was thrust open savagely from inside.
’What the hell are you doing, standing in the rain?’ snarled Conor, as she got awkwardly into the seat beside him. ‘God, when you said you’d meet me outside, I didn’t realise you meant it literally!’
Olivia sucked in her breath. ‘I don’t think there’s any need to be so rude, Conor. I’m here, aren’t I? You didn’t have to wait for me, as I’ve had to do for you. You said fifteen minutes. You should have stuck to the twenty as I suggested.’
Conor’s face was grim as he slammed the car into gear and took off again as aggressively as he had arrived. ‘Don’t patronise me, Liv,’ he retorted, as she hastily groped for the seatbelt. ‘What’s the matter? Having second thoughts?’
Olivia gasped. She’d had just about enough of being made to feel as if she had something to be guilty about, first with Stephen, and now with Conor. ‘It seems to me that you’re the one having second thoughts,’ she returned coldly. ‘But don’t worry about it. You can always take me back.’
’Don’t talk rubbish!’ In the subdued light from the dashboard, she saw his face take on an exasperated expression. ‘Just because I was concerned about you!’
’Oh!’ Olivia jammed the safety clip into place. ‘Is that what it was? You could have fooled me.’
Conor gave her a fulminating look. ‘Will you stop trying to turn this into something it’s not? I was annoyed, that’s all. Did you have to make your reluctance to be seen with me so obvious?’
Olivia shook her head. ‘That—that’s stupid!’
’Is it?’ Conor arched one brow. ‘So why did you want to meet me outside?’
’I—had my reasons.’
’What reasons?’
Olivia sighed. ‘Look, does it matter? You’ll just have to believe me when I say it had nothing to do with—with who you are. It’s not as if the Drakes don’t know we know one another. Heavens, Mrs Drake was telling me how she went to school with Sharon’s mother.’
’Really?’ Conor’s brows descended. ‘I got the impression you kept yourself pretty much to yourself. I wouldn’t have thought you were the type to enjoy a heart-to-heart with old Eva!’
’Old Eva? Oh, you mean Mrs Drake.’ Olivia stiffened her shoulders. ‘Well, that’s what we old women do, didn’t you know? Gossip about the past!’
’You’re not an old woman,’ replied Conor irritably. ‘God, what are you trying to do here, Liv? Ruin the evening before it’s begun?’
’I think you did that already,’ she retorted heatedly, and the expletive he uttered successfully silenced her for the remainder of the journey.
Consequently, when they turned into the gates of Conor’s house, Olivia was already searching for reasons why she shouldn’t stay long. Perhaps she could pretend her leg was hurting her, she considered. It was a sufficiently ambiguous statement not to require too much elaboration. Indeed, she wondered now why she hadn’t just used it as an excuse earlier. She could always have asked Mrs Drake to serve her dinner in her room, thus saving herself from Stephen’s company, too.
The car had stopped, she realised suddenly, and while she had been musing over what she might have done Conor had got out and come round to open her door. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘If you don’t mind getting soaked, I do.’
It was hardly gracious, but she allowed him to take her gloved hand and help her to her feet. After all, if she wanted to foster the belief that her leg was giving her trouble, it wouldn’t do to be too independent.
’Thank you,’ she said politely, as he leant forward to slam the door behind her, and his lean tanned features softened into a rueful grin.
’I’m sorry,’ he said huskily, rubbing the knuckles of one hand down her cheek. ‘I guess you think I’m a bastard, mmm?’
Olivia’s throat constricted. ‘I—I—no! No, of course not.’ It was an effort to keep her tone impersonal. ‘Don’t be silly, Conor.’
His hand fell away. ‘If you persist in treating me like a schoolboy, I may be forced to prove you wrong,’ he answered, turning away to climb the steps and insert his key in the lock. He glanced back. ‘Are you coming, or do you need some help?’
’I can do it.’
Olivia used the iron handrail to mount the steps behind him, surprised that Sharon hadn’t come out to see what was taking them so long. There were lights on in the house, and because the curtains were not yet drawn she could see into the elegant drawing-room. Someone had lit a fire, and it was burning cosily in the grate. It gave the room such a familiar look that she wouldn’t have been surprised to see Conor’s parents sitting on the sofa. For a moment, the thought of how things might have been filled her with regret. No wonder Conor had wanted to keep the house. It must be filled with memories.
Conor thrust the door open, and the light from inside spilled on to Olivia’s pale face. ‘Now, what is it?’ he demanded, glimpsing something of the sadness she was feeling, and Olivia shook her head.
’I was just thinking about your mother and father,’ she admitted unwillingly, following him into the hall. ‘I understand now why you wanted to keep the house.’
’Do you?’
Conor’s response was vaguely enigmatic, and Olivia turned to close the door. Then, tugging off her gloves, she thrust them into her pockets, before tackling the buttons on her coat. But every minute she expected Sharon to come bursting out to meet them, eager to demonstrate her authority as mistress of the house. Even if it was in name only, thought Olivia, rather maliciously. Though she knew that, if Sharon had her way, that would only be a matter of time.
She was easing the coat off her shoulders when Conor seemed to remember his manners, and came to help her. His cool fingers brushed the nape of her neck as he did so, and she shivered. It was too easy to imagine how those hard fingers would feel touching her with more than just accidental intent, and she drew an uneven breath as he hung the coat on the old-fashioned umbrella stand.
’Go ahead,’ he said, as she waited uncertainly for him to finish. ‘You know the way.’
’Into the drawing-room?’ she ventured, unwilling, in spite of everything, to steal Sharon’s thunder.
’Sure.’ Conor was removing the leather jacket he had worn to fetch her, revealing a black shirt and black jeans. He came up behind her, and the heat from his body was palpably real. ‘What are you waiting for?’
’I—um …’ Olivia moved hurriedly away from him. ‘Wh—where’s Sharon?’
’Sharon?’ Conor’s astonishment was not feigned. ‘Did I give you any reason to think she would be here?’
’Er—no.’ Olivia stepped somewhat nervously into the drawing-room. ‘But—well, where is she? She hasn’t gone out for the evening because she knew I was coming, has she?’
Conor gave her an old-fashioned look. ‘Why do I get the feeling we’re talking at cross purposes here?’ he asked wryly. ‘Let me get this straight—Sharon told you she lived here, right?’
Olivia gripped the back of a Regency-striped armchair. ‘No-o.’
’Did I?’
She shook her head. ‘No.’
’OK.’ He inclined his head and started across the room to where a tray of drinks was residing on a low bookcase. ‘I’m glad we’ve cleared that up. So—what are you going to have to drink? I’ve got scotch and sherry, and sherry and scotch.’ He grimaced. ‘I was going to buy a bottle of gin, when I came down to the pub. But—well, it didn’t work out that way, did it?’
Olivia caught her lower lip between her teeth. ‘Sharon doesn’t live here?’ she asked, still not quite able to believe it, and Conor unscrewed the cap of the sherry and filled two glasses.
’No,’ he replied patiently, and, lifting both glasses, he carried them towards her. ‘Here. I’m assuming you’re not opposed to an appetiser.’ He handed one of the glasses to her, and she wondered if he noticed her scramble to grasp the stem to avoid his fingers. ‘Cheers.’
’Cheers,’ she echoed faintly, taking a sip of the dry sa
ck. ‘Mmm—this is nice.’
’Is it?’ Conor’s mouth compressed. ‘So, what made you think Sharon lived here?’ he probed. ‘Did Mrs Drake tell you that?’
’No.’ Olivia shifted a little uncomfortably. ‘I—I’ve obviously made a mistake.’
’In coming here?’ enquired Conor drily. He gestured towards the sofa. ‘Why don’t we sit down? Then you can tell me all about it. Right now, I get the feeling that one wrong word from me and you’ll be dashing to phone a cab!’
’That’s silly.’ Olivia expelled her breath rather unevenly.
’So?’ Conor bent to switch on another lamp. ‘I don’t bite, you know. Well,’ he grinned, as he straightened, ‘only occasionally.’
Clutching her glass, Olivia circled the armchair, and went to perch on the end of the sofa. She would have preferred to sit in the armchair, but she had already aroused his amusement, and she had no wish to make a complete laughing-stock of herself. Besides, it was warmer on the sofa.
She had stretched out her toes toward the blaze, when Conor came to sit beside her. Unlike her, he didn’t balance on the edge of the seat, but dropped heavily on to the cushions, his long black-clad legs only inches from hers.
’Comfortable, isn’t it?’ he remarked, crossing his feet at the ankle. ‘You’ve no idea how often I longed to experience a real winter again, when I was living in Florida.’
Olivia relaxed a little. ‘Don’t they have winters in Florida?’
Conor tipped his head back against the cushions. ‘Oh, yeah,’ he said cynically, ‘they have winters. Maybe once in ten, twenty years the temperature drops below freezing, and all the growers panic in case it kills the fruit trees. I believe they even had snow, once. But I didn’t see it. Where we lived, on the Gulf coast, it rarely drops below sixty. That’s Fahrenheit, of course.’
Olivia was impressed. ‘I’d say there are quite a few people who’d envy you, living in a semi-tropical climate like that,’ she said. She took another sip of her sherry. ‘I almost envy you myself.’