by Sara Craven
She could always go home, but her mother for one would want to know the reason for her change of plan. She hadn't mentioned Jeremy by name, of course, but they knew that a man was involved in her decision to stay in London for her birthday, and had been clearly intrigued. So she did not feel she could face the kindly but searching inquisition which would follow if she arrived on the doorstep after all.
Besides, it might also seem a tacit suggestion that they were somehow second-best, and she would never hurt them like that.
No, if anyone had to be hurt, it must be herself alone, she thought, as anger and disillusionment twisted inside her.
And it was perhaps a good thing that she was growing used to her own company, because it seemed, unhappily, as if she would be enjoying a lot more of it in future.
Declan felt a touch of weariness as he let himself into the house. It had been one hell of a week—for all kinds of reasons, he thought grimly. He needed a shower, and a drink—and then he had some very hard thinking to do.
As he put down his briefcase he heard a noise from upstairs, and Jeremy came into view carrying a travel bag. He checked when he saw Declan.
'Oh, hi,' he said with studied nonchalance. 'I didn't expect to see you.'
'No one ever seems to,' Declan commented drily, studying the bag with a slight frown. 'Did you mention you were going away this weekend?'
'Last-minute decision. Hell of a lot of pressure at work, so I thought I deserved a break.' Jeremy's gaze slid away evasively.
'Going alone?'
'Alas, yes,' Jeremy's tone was airy. 'I'm afraid Maria has made other plans.'
'How unlucky.' Declan's smile did not reach his eyes. Anger was building inside him, coupled with another emotion that wasn't so easy to analyse.
'Well—see you late Sunday evening,' Jeremy said, making for the door.
'No doubt,' Declan agreed levelly. 'How's the flat-hunting going, by the way?'
'Not bad.' Jeremy gave him a surprised look. 'A number of distinct possibilities, in fact.'
'I'm glad to hear it,' Declan said softly. 'Let's make your departure sooner rather than later, shall we?'
Jeremy's face went an unbecoming red. He glared at Declan, then stalked to the door, and slammed it behind him for good measure.
Declan strode into the dining room, and splashed whisky into a tumbler. He took a swift, angry swallow, then went to stand at the French windows, staring unseeingly at the sunlit garden beyond.
No prizes for guessing the identity of that little bastard's travelling companion, he thought savagely. And he'd played right into their hands by allowing her to leave work early. If he'd known, he'd have invented tasks to keep her around until midnight.
But he should have realised, he thought without pleasure. In the past couple of days she'd gone from thoughtful and a little subdued to looking as if she was lit from within with happiness. There had to be a reason.
Oh, to hell with them both, he told himself, drinking some more whisky. They deserve each other.
And he'd been wasting time and thought on Olivia which could have been devoted to a more worthwhile cause. He'd give Claudia a call—see if she'd like to have dinner. Maybe even advise him on the redecoration of the drawing room which was due. Or something.
He went to the phone and dialled her number. She was flatteringly pleased to hear from him.
'Dinner would be wonderful.' Her voice warmed. 'But why don't you come here? I'm having some other friends over on Sunday night—just for an informal supper. I nearly rang you, but I thought you'd probably be busy.'
'I have been,' Declan said lightly. 'Now I'm looking for some serious relaxation.'
'Oh.' She paused. 'Well, I'll be delighted to help—if you think I can.'
'I can guarantee the possibility,' Declan promised gravely.
He was smiling wryly as he replaced the receiver. If he was any judge, she'd be burning up her phone line for the rest of the day, trying to round up some unsuspecting souls for supper on Sunday night.
But so what? he thought with a shrug. She was beautiful, sexy, and exactly what he needed—for a while anyway. Because he was under no illusion that she was the other half of him—the woman he needed to complete his life.
And what he didn't understand, he brooded as he finished his whisky, was how he could suddenly be so sure.
The telephone rang again, and he reached for it 'Sasha?' he queried, frowning. Is something wrong? Now, slow down, and start from the beginning…
It was the most mail she'd received since she came to London, but it did little to lift Olivia's spirits. She'd cried herself to sleep the night before, and she was close to tears again as she opened the cards from family and friends in the West Country and read the loving messages, which somehow only emphasised her sense of isolation.
Her parents had sent her a bracelet of gold links, and she clasped it on to her wrist There was a bottle of her favourite scent from her sister, and a long silky scarf patterned in grey, black and silver from her aunt and uncle too. Beth's pretty amber earrings set in silver she'd keep for a special occasion—like going home next weekend.
But, for now, she had the next forty-eight hours to get through.
Breakfast over, she went down to Portobello with a rather more sober list than that of the day before. She was becoming accustomed to the noise and bustle of the market by now, and knew exactly which shops and stalls to call at.
Her shopping soon completed, she walked unhurriedly back to Lancey Terrace. On the way, she saw that the mews house she'd noticed on her first visit was still for sale.
What a naive idiot I was, she thought, remembering the sweet, silly dream she'd indulged in.
She unpacked her provisions and put them away, then gave her surroundings a critical glance. She could always improve the day by giving the flat a thorough cleaning, she thought without enthusiasm. And she'd start by throwing away Declan's roses, now drooping wanly on their stems.
I know the feeling, she muttered inwardly, as she carried them gently to the kitchen, scattering a drift of petals behind her as she went.
The knock at the door took her totally by surprise. It couldn't be Sasha, she thought as she went to answer it, and there was no one else—unless Jeremy had decided not to go to Scotland after all…
Her throat tightened in a kind of wistful hope as she opened the door on the chain.
'Many happy returns of the day,' said Declan. 'May I come in?'
'Yes,' she said, swallowing. 'Yes, I suppose so.'
'You overwhelm me,' he murmured as he walked past her. 'I thought for a moment you were going to make me poke your present round the edge of the door.'
'You've brought me a present?' She stood looking at him in total bewilderment.
'I know it's an unusual thing to do on birthdays,' he said, 'but I'm just a born eccentric.' He handed her a small heavy parcel.
'How did you know it was my birthday?' She bit her lip. 'Sasha again?'
'No,' he said. 'You filled in some forms when you joined the company, and your personal details are now on the office database. If you're with us next year, the girls will no doubt organise the usual cake and champagne.'
'Oh,' she said. 'Well, that's hardly likely—but thank you anyway.'
'You're welcome,' he returned. 'Now you're supposed to offer me coffee, which I sit and drink while you open your parcel.'
Her mouth trembled into a smile. 'Is that the way of it?'
'It is. And if that's your idea of an Irish accent, let me tell you it's rubbish.'
'In that case, make your own coffee,' she retorted with spirit, and he grinned and went past her into the little kitchen.
She sat down, took off the gold striped paper, and unfastened the box inside. She folded back the layers of tissue and took out the glass paperweight they'd concealed.
It was a delicate dung, a swirl of misty greys, soft pinks and silver, and at its centre, crafted in deeper pink, a tiny, perfect rosebud.
She
said, 'Oh,' softly, and cradled it in her hand. She looked up as Declan came back into the room. 'I don't know what to say. It's the most beautiful thing. You shouldn't…'
'It's a bribe—to persuade you to stay at Academy and put up with my rotten temper.'
She forced a smile. 'Kim might have something to say about that.'
'Kim's going to have a baby. Her ideas may change. I'm told it happens sometimes.' He paused, then said abruptly, 'Where do you keep your coffee?'
'In the top left-hand cupboard—but I'll do it…'
'Stay where you are,' he ordered peremptorily. 'You're the birthday girl'
'Yes, sir.' She put the paperweight gently on the table, her fingers lingering on the rounded surface.
He came back with two beakers of steaming coffee, made, she saw, as she liked it, strong with only a little milk. He must have watched the way she did it at work.
'So, what are your plans for the rest of the day?' He sat down across the table from her.
'I don't think I have any,' Olivia said, taken aback.
'You can't intend to sit here alone all day. Not on your birthday.'
She traced the pattern on the beaker with her forefinger. 'Well, originally I thought I'd go on the river—go to the Tower of London.'
'What's stopping you?'
'It was a stupid idea,' she said slowly. 'A really naff thing to do. I see that now.'
'I think it's great,' Declan said crisply. 'May I go with you?'
She looked up at him, startled. 'Why should you want to do that?'
He shrugged. 'Because, like you, I've never been to the Tower.'
'You're not serious,' she said.
'I'm going to drink this coffee,' he said, 'and then you have fifteen minutes to get ready.'
She looked down at her cream cotton pants and black rollneck sweater. 'I don't need to change.'
'No,' he said. 'But you need some make-up, or people will think I've been cruel to you, and hate me for making you cry all night'
Colour swamped her face. She said in a suffocated voice, 'You're wrong—I haven't'
'Don't fib.' His voice was gentle. 'And don't run away either, because I'd only come after you. You know that, don't you?'
Her lips soundlessly framed, 'Yes.'
He drank down his coffee and stood up. 'Fifteen minutes?'
Olivia nodded. Touched the paperweight 'Thank you again for this. I shall treasure it always.'
He said quietly, 'This time I wanted to give you a rose that wouldn't wither or die. I'm glad you like it.'
When he'd gone, she picked up the weight and held its coolness against her flushed cheek for a long moment.
She said softly, 'It's my birthday—and I'm going to be happy—no matter what it costs me.'
CHAPTER NINE
It was windy on the Thames, and Olivia was glad she'd put on her grey linen jacket She unwound her new scarf from her neck and tied it over her ruffled hair, allowing the long ends to float free behind her.
Earlier, she'd applied her make-up carefully, covering the tell-tale shadows under her eyes and emphasising her cheekbones with a discreet amount of blusher. She'd sprayed herself with the Estée Lauder scent she'd received that morning, and, at the last minute, slipped Beth's amber earrings into her ears.
She thought she looked good, but if she'd been hoping for any overt appreciation from Declan she was disappointed All she'd got was a laconic, 'Ready? Then let's go.' They disembarked at the Tower, and walked up the ramp to join the crowds who were milling around the ticket booths and gift shop in front of the main entrance.
After her bag had been checked, they walked under the stone arch, and up the slope into the Tower itself.
Declan handed her a guidebook. 'Do you want to join a tour, or shall we just wander round by ourselves?'
'I'd rather wander.' Olivia looked up at the tall stone buildings crowding around them. She said, It's formidable, isn't it? Imagine being brought here, not knowing what was going to happen to you.'
'On a day like this, perhaps.' Declan lifted his face towards the sky. 'When the sun might be about to go out for ever.'
She shivered. 'That's a ghastly thought Those were inhuman times.'
'Nothing changes very much,' he said quietly. 'These days inhumanity takes different forms, that's all.'
They walked slowly, pausing at intervals to consult the guidebook, passing the Queen's House, where Anne Boleyn and Catherine Howard had both passed their last days, and skirting Tower Green, basking innocently in the sunlight. They looked at the display of armour in the White Tower, then climbed the stairs into the Bloody Tower and saw the rooms which Sir Walter Raleigh had occupied for so long.
'He had his family in here with him for a time,' Declan told her.
Olivia wrinkled her nose. It's awfully cramped, and not much privacy either.'
'I don't suppose they minded—as long as they could be together.' He paused. 'Do you want to go into Martin's Tower?'
'What's there?'
'A reconstruction of the rack, among other delights.'
Olivia shuddered. 'I'll pass. But I would like to see the Crown Jewels.'
'So would half the world,' Declan said drily when they saw the queue.
'You must be so bored,' Olivia said awkwardly, as they moved slowly forward.
'On the contrary.' Declan looked around. 'I'm wondering if I can't get the company interested in another popular history series on famous prisoners who were kept here, from Henry the Sixth to Rudolph Hess, maybe.'
'I'd watch it.'
'So I should hope.' He grinned at her. 'But you're a captive audience. I've bought your loyalty.'
As the queue moved forward again Olivia was conscious that a number of curious glances were coming their way, accompanied by a lot of nudging and pointing.
She said, 'I think you've been recognised. Will your street cred ever recover?'
Declan shrugged. 'Who knows—and who cares, anyway? It's not something I allow to trouble me.
He turned courteously as a woman came up to them shyly, proffering a postcard and a pen. 'Could I have your autograph, Mr Malone? I always watch your programme.
'That's good to hear.' Declan smiled at her as he scribbled his signature.
'You've made her day,' Olivia whispered, as the beaming fan rejoined her party.
'I think she's started something,' he muttered back as other people began to converge on him, waving scraps of paper, as well as postcards and guidebooks. He inscribed one giggling girl's wrist, but politely declined to sign her companion's bare midriff.
'Don't you mind?' Olivia asked when they reached the comparative sanctuary of the Jewel House and began to walk round the exhibition of banqueting and church plate, displayed alongside the Swords of State and the Coronation robes.
'Sometimes, but I'm aware it's ungrateful of me.' Declan paused in front of the maces. 'They provide me with my living, and television's a fickle medium when all's said and done. It can lift you up and drop you down before you can draw breath. I plan to get out before the slide begins.
'Oh?' Olivia looked up at him, startled. 'What will you do instead.
'Go back to my first love—horses,' he returned promptly. 'My father always hoped I'd take over the running of our stud farm eventually, and I shan't disappoint him.'
She drew an incredulous breath. 'You mean you'd give up London? Leave your beautiful house?'
'When the time comes.' He nodded. To me, the secret of happiness is finding where you really belong, and doing what you know is right.'
'And for you that's horses,' she said slowly.
'Animals are honest They'll make a welcome change to some of the people I have to deal with.' He lifted a quizzical brow. 'Don't you think I'm capable of making the switch?'
She said quietly, 'I think you're capable of doing anything that you want'
And they went down to the lower level to look in awed silence at the jewelled glory of the State Crowns and Coronation regalia.
'I'd like to have seen the original regalia,' Declan said thoughtfully. 'The stuff that Cromwell sold off or had melted down. One of the many things to curse him for.
They emerged blinking into the sunshine, and Olivia sighed happily. 'That alone was worth the trip.' She paused. 'Thank you for bringing me,' she added stiltedly.
'It was my pleasure,' he returned. 'And I'm perfectly aware that you can make your own way back, and you don't want to take up any more of my time. But you're not getting rid of me that easily.'
'How did you know what I was going to say?' she asked indignantly.
'I've teen working with you all week. I've learned to read your silences, and this one said you were figuring a tactful way of telling me to shove off,'
She choked on a giggle. 'I don't think I like being so transparent.'
'You're not,' he said, 'At least not to other people.
While Olivia was digesting this, he went on, 'So what do you want to do after lunch—Madame Tussaud's—the Planetarium?
She hesitated. 'Could we go to the Tate? I want to see the Turner exhibition.
'Great idea,' he approved. 'We'll be inside when the weather changes.'
Olivia looked suspiciously at the sky, and the fluffy clouds floating in it 'It doesn't look like rain.'
It will be here by late afternoon, believe me. The Irish are experts on rain.'
'Well, it's very hot now.' Olivia folded her jacket over her arm. 'Would it be the pits if I had an ice-cream?'
This is your day,' Declan said quietly. 'You can have anything that you want Anything at all.'
She was going to joke about it being an extravagant offer, but as her eyes met his the words died suddenly on her lips, because the heated intensity in his gaze was no joking matter. His eyes were caressing her, sending a message too explicit to ignore.
She was aware of her heart hammering jerkily against her ribcage, and a strange tremor compounded of nervousness and excitement fluttering deep inside her.
She wanted to stretch out her hand and take his. To feel his arms close round her, and his mouth warm and possessive on hers.