by Sara Craven
'Oh, I'm not saying I wouldn't have had you if you'd been available,' he added with another shrug. 'And the rent would have been useful. But you were fixated on love and marriage, and that's not my scene.
'And it's not Declan's either—in case you were stupid enough to hope.'
She said, 'Get out.'
'Willingly. I only came round to do you a favour.' He held up a plastic carrier, 'Your jacket Melinda doesn't want it cluttering up the flat. I couldn't get an answer at your place, so it occurred to me that Declan could return it to you at work tomorrow. But this is better still.'
He tossed the carrier to her, and she caught it, hugging it against her breasts as if it were a shield.
'So tell me about him, Livvy.' His voice was low suddenly. Suggestive. 'Give me a few tips. Make me eat my heart out. What does he do in bed that keeps his women hanging round panting for more?'
She felt as if she'd been covered in slime. She stared back at him, sickened, unable to speak.
'Although I wouldn't bother in your case, darling,' he went on. 'I doubt if you've made his A list. Because he has one, and he gives his women scores out of ten. Maria told me that ages ago. It's the only time I ever heard her disapprove of him. Think about it.'
He blew her a kiss, and went.
Olivia stood for a long moment, staring into space. She felt numb, but that wouldn't last. Soon—too soon—there would be unbearable pain. And a sense of humiliation going too deep for words.
She thought, I have to get out of here. Now. Before he comes back.
Her bag was in the dining room, and she found her dress draped over a clothes airer in the small laundry room that opened off the kitchen.
She took off the robe and threw it down, feeling her skin burn where it had touched. But at least she could change down here, she thought as she zipped up her dress. She didn't have to die the death of going back to Declan's bed—the scene of her bitter, unforgivable betrayal.
She heard herself moan softly, and dragged her jacket out of the bag, shaking out the creases.
'Olivia?' She'd been so intent on making her escape that she hadn't heard his return, but he was standing in the doorway watching her, his brows lifted questioningly. 'You're dressed. What happened to breakfast in bed?'
'I changed my mind.' How could her voice sound so normal? 'I don't really care for croissants and Buck's Fizz.'
'Fair enough,' he said equably. 'Because I've brought a stack of bacon—in case we need more midnight snacks— plus eggs, tomatoes, and sausages. The full Irish breakfast Oh, and a couple of baguettes with some paté and fruit for lunch.'
'I won't be staying. Not for breakfast, lunch, or even another minute.' She shrugged on her jacket.
'What the hell is this?' He was frowning now. 'And where did that come from?' He pointed at the jacket.
'Jeremy brought it round. Wasn't that kind of him? You left the door on the latch and he just walked in.'
'Oh, God, I'm sorry.' He sounded genuinely remorseful, she thought with incredulity. 'It never occurred to me he'd have the brass face to turn up here. But surely he can't have upset you again?'
'On the contrary.' Inside the pockets of her jacket, her hands were balled into fists. 'He's done me a number of favours. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll be going.'
'Not like this.' Declan stepped forward, taking her by the shoulders. 'I won't let you.'
'Don't touch me.' Olivia recoiled, shaking herself free almost violently. 'You'll never lay a hand on me again.'
For a moment he stared at her in total disbelief, then he took a careful pace backwards, raising his hands in the air.
'You're free.' His drawl held menace. 'But I think I merit an explanation.'
She walked past him, careful to avoid even the slightest contact. She couldn't afford to remember even fleetingly how his body had felt against hers—inside hers. Last night he'd turned her into his creature—wild, uninhibited, sobbing with ecstasy in his arms. This morning she belonged to herself again.
He followed her to the dining room. Watched while she retrieved her bag.
He said, 'I'm waiting, Olivia.'
She faced him, chin lifted. 'Your devotion to your cousin is admirable, Declan, but I didn't realise the lengths your protectiveness could take you. I now know that you set out to seduce me simply to separate me from Jeremy.'
'What are you talking about?' She saw the colour fade from his face.
'Are you denying you used yourself as bait—taking me to dinner—the job—my birthday treat?' She spat the words at Mm, using her anger to dam back the hurt tears that were perilously close but which she could not afford to shed.
And at the same time part of her was praying that he would indeed deny it. Condemn Jeremy as a liar. Banish her own terrifying doubts for ever.
But all she saw in his face was shock—and guilt.
She said, 'Can you deny it? You said you never lied to Maria, so do me the same courtesy.'
He took a deep breath. 'No, but you have to let me explain…'
'No explanation's necessary. That's all I wanted to know.' She walked to the French windows. 'Although I can't understand why you went on with the plan even when you knew I'd finished with Jeremy. Perhaps you couldn't resist another notch on your overcrowded bedpost Or maybe it was a reward because I'd been a good girl—not made waves for Maria. Was that it?'
He said, in a voice she barely recognised, 'I thought it was love.'
'Love?' Olivia echoed derisively. 'You don't even know the meaning of the word. You see, I've heard about your A list, too, and I'm compiling one of my own. A list of people with decency, integrity and common humanity. And do you know something, Declan? You won't even feature.'
She opened the French windows and walked out into the sunlight without looking back.
Out of his life, she thought Back into her own. And an eternity of loneliness and despair.
Olivia switched off the word processor and sat back with a faint sigh. Another week over, she thought Another weekend to face.
Work had been her lifesaver. Her last line of defence. And her present job, replacing a secretary on sick leave in a busy chambers in Gray's Inn, left her, thankfully, with no time to think. Maybe she should look for something to occupy her during the endless weekends, too, she mused. A job in a wine bar, perhaps, or showing property.
Sandra Wilton had been knocked sideways when Olivia had presented herself at the agency with the announcement that she was not returning to Academy Productions, but she'd seen the other girl's white face and burning eyes, and had tactfully refrained from asking too many questions.
And any fears Olivia had had about being blacklisted by the agency or treated as unreliable had soon been assuaged.
The move to Wandsworth had been a relief too. She'd told herself that Declan wouldn't come after her to Lancey Terrace, and she'd been right, but she still hadn't felt safe there. It had been altogether too close for comfort, and she couldn't risk the pain of running into him on the street, or even seeing him from a distance.
'Goodnight, Olivia.' Tim Carney, one of the pupils in the chambers, stopped beside her desk. 'Have a good weekend.'
'Thank you.' She glanced up, forcing a smile. 'You too.'
He lingered. 'Actually, a few of us are going for a drink. We wondered whether you'd like to join us.'
'That's very kind, but I'm afraid I can't' He was good-looking, talented and pleasant, she thought dispassionately. And anyone in her right mind wouldn't hesitate. Only she wasn't in her right mind. She inhabited a kind of bleak chaos, where nothing made sense any more.
He bit his lip. 'Ah, well. Another time, perhaps.'
'Perhaps,' she agreed gently.
Autumn had come swiftly and sharply, with early frosts, and as she walked to the bus stop dried leaves were swirling down from the trees and crunching under her feet The grey skies and chill in the air suited her mood perfectly, only now she had to go home to Wandsworth and pretend everything was fine.
Her room was small, but she had it to herself and the walls were solid, so only she knew that she cried herself to sleep each night And only she knew how her body still yearned for Declan, no matter how her mind might reject him. That was something she simply had to endure.
When she'd moved into the flat, she'd feared that Louise might chatter on endlessly about Academy Productions, but apart from mentioning that Carol had left with equal suddenness—It must be catching, Livvy'—and that Declan was striding about these days like Son of Terminator and no one could get near him, she'd said nothing.
Of course, Declan's weekly political television programme had returned—Tougher than ever' said the critics—but Olivia contrived to be out of the sitting room while it was being shown.
Her only weakness had been to keep the paperweight he'd given her, hidden at the bottom of a drawer. She'd put it outside with the rubbish, then retrieved it at the last minute, unable to let it go.
One day, she told herself, she'd be strong enough to get rid of it permanently. And then, maybe, she'd know she was healed.
A big advantage of fiat-sharing was that you didn't have to cook every night, she thought, her nose twitching appreciatively as she let herself in. Tonight it was the turn of Hilary, the Casserole Queen, and there was a tantalisingly savoury aroma in the air.
'Listen,' Louise said, appearing in the doorway of Olivia's room. 'We're going to this new club that Hilary knows of later on. Are you up to it?'
'Not really, thanks.' Olivia flexed her shoulders. 'I've had a really busy day, so I'm planning on an early night'
Louise sighed. 'We'll prise you out one evening, see if we don't But if you really won't come, can I borrow your little black bag? The catch has gone on mine.'
'Yes, it's hanging on the back of the door. Help yourself.' Olivia kicked off her shoes.
'You've left something inside,' Louise said, delving. She produced a large iron key. 'What's this?'
'Oh, heavens,' Olivia said slowly. 'It's the key to Lancey Gardens. I must have forgotten to hand it back with the others. I—I haven't used that bag since I came here.'
'Well, no harm done,' Louise said cheerfully. 'You'll have to drop it off some time, that's all.' And she whizzed off.
Olivia looked down at the key. Yes, she thought I suppose I will.
Her stomach was churning as she walked along Lancey Terrace the following afternoon. She was sorely tempted to turn back, and post the key to Sasha. But as she telephoned to make sure her ex-landlady would be at home that would be neither kind nor fair. Particularly as Sasha had sounded so thrilled to hear from her.
'Darling child,' Sasha enveloped her in a scented embrace. She stood back, giving Olivia a critical look. 'You've lost weight, and you can't afford to. And so pale, tod. Come in. I've just made a pot of coffee.'
Humph warbled at her, then circled her three times, and jumped on to her lap as soon as she sat down.
'You see, we all miss you.' Sasha poured the coffee.
'I'm really sorry about taking the key.' Olivia produced it.
'Don't worry about it The boy who took your flat doesn't want it The garden's not his thing, as it was yours.'
'No,' Olivia said with constraint. She put the key down on the table in front of her.
'Darling,' Sasha said gently. 'Is there anything you'd like to talk about? I can't bear to see you look so sad.'
'There's nothing,' Olivia said. 'Except that I'm probably going back to Bristol' She forced a smile. 'I don't think London suits me.'
Sasha sighed. 'Well, don't decide anything too hastily. Perhaps you and London haven't given each other a proper chance.' She paused. 'Is there anything you want to ask me—about anyone?'
The muscles tightened in Olivia's throat 'No.'
'He looks so dreadful,' Sasha went on, as if Olivia hadn't spoken. 'He doesn't smile. He's like a stranger. And I feel almost sorry for some of those poor people he interviews. Everyone's saying he goes too far these days.'
Olivia stared down at her coffee. She said with difficulty, 'Do you remember the sundial in the garden? The inscription says, "Time makes Love pass." Do you think it's true?'
'Oh, my dear girl, of course not,' Sasha told her sadly. 'When love is real and true it lasts for ever.' Her eyes were misty. 'When I think of my beloved it's as if we'd just met. As if he's waiting for me at some turn in the path. That's how it must be.'
She pushed the key back towards Olivia. 'Keep it for a while, darling. Come back sometimes, and walk in the garden. Humph will go with you if you want company. And he doesn't mind if you cry, either. He's been such a comfort to me. Sit, and feel the sun on your face before the winter comes. It's such a healing place. It helped me so much when I lost my beloved. And it will help you. I know it.'
But your memories are happy ones, Olivia thought wistfully as she reluctantly replaced the key in her bag. I can't cure my pain unless I wipe out the past completely. And that's not possible.
There was a smell of smoke in the air as she paused at the gates, and a thin blue trail rising in the air where someone was burning leaves.
There was a raw feeling in the air, and a lot of the shrubs and trees had bare branches already, Olivia noticed, turning up her coat collar. But the clearing with the sundial was surrounded by evergreens, so it still retained the sense of being cut off from the rest of the world.
The bench felt slightly damp, so she decided not to sit down. Instead, she walked over to the sundial, and ran her fingers over the inscription.
She would just have to pray that Sasha was wrong, she thought with a pang, and turned, sighing, to go.
Declan was standing a few yards away, just inside the clearing. He was wearing jeans, and a dark blue sweater with a roll collar. He looked haggard, and as if he hadn't slept for weeks.
He said hoarsely, 'Olivia. You're here.'
She said bitterly, 'I suppose Sasha tipped you off?'
'No.' Declan shook his head. 'I've been here every day. Waiting for you. I told myself if I was patient you'd come eventually.'
Her heart twisted inside hear. She said crisply, 'And now I'm going.'
He took a step towards her. 'Not yet. Not until I've had a chance to talk to you—to explain…'
'I had all the explanation I needed—that morning—when you couldn't look me in the face.' Pain clutched her again at the memory.
'What do you want me to say?' There was anguish in his voice. 'That the thought of taking you away from that cheating bastard never occurred to me? I can't And I did taunt him with it He was right about that, damn him. And I'm not proud of it In some ways I deserved every harsh word you flung at me when you walked out on me.' His voice deepened passionately. 'But everything changed after we had dinner together. You must have known that.'
She said wearily, 'I don't think I know anything any more.'
'And do you think I wasn't confused too? To have all my assumptions about you suddenly challenged like that?' He bit his lip. 'I wanted to believe you were as worthless as Jeremy himself. I—needed to think that, because I didn't want to face the fact that I was fighting something inside myself.'
'Oh, really?' She lifted her chin scornfully. 'Next you'll be telling me it was really love at first sight'
'No,' he said. 'Although you were there, in my head, from that first moment. But I told myself that was anger— because you were going to hurt Maria. Only it wasn't that simple.'
He paused. 'When I kissed you that night, I was knocked out by your reaction. I could feel you trembling in my arms, taste the innocence on your lips. Believe me, Olivia, the hardest thing I ever did in my life was walk away and leave you.'
He looked at her pleadingly. 'Don't you see? If I'd been the villain you think, I'd have stayed. Coaxed you into inviting me into your flat Persuaded you to let me spend the night. Because I could have done. Isn't that the truth?'
In spite of herself, she felt her lips frame a silent, 'Yes.'
'Ah, my love,' he said softly. 'You were changin
g too.'
'But that doesn't change a thing.' She leant back against the sundial, the edge of the stone biting into her hands. 'You used me—manipulated me. Nothing can alter that.'
'Maybe not. But can't we learn from our mistakes—and be forgiven for them? Because that's what I'm asking you.' He threw his head back. 'Don't leave me, Olivia. I'll beg on my knees if you want.'
'Don't,' she said. 'It's over, Declan. You fooled me once. But you don't have to pretend any more.'
'You think what we had together was pretence?' He closed his eyes wearily. 'Dear God, no one's that good an actor.' He looked at her, his eyes intense. 'Tell me you don't love me, Olivia, Swear it, and I'll let you go. But it had better be the truth, because if you leave me I'm only going to be half alive.'
'You mustn't say these things.' Her voice broke. 'It's cruel—and unfair.'
'No,' he said harshly. 'It's right—and it's real. I'm fighting for you, Olivia, and for our happiness. For our life together. Our unborn children. You're my woman, and nothing less will do.'
He looked at her pleadingly. 'Darling, my perfect girl, you must love me. You couldn't have made love with me as you did without loving me. That isn't the way you are. You're mine, and I'm yours, and there can't be any other way. I hurt you, and nothing can alter that, but I was hurting too, thinking it was still Jeremy you wanted.'
Olivia said nothing. She could recognize the pain in his eyes, the loneliness and the fear. Recognise them because she shared them.
Only she didn't have to. And nor did he. Not any more. Never again. Because there could be forgiveness, and a new beginning. And, she realised shakily, all the happiness she could ever want in this world.
And somewhere deep inside her, in the cold, unhappy recesses of her soul, a tiny tendril of warmth and faith and trust was stirring into life. Defying the autumn chill. Coming into full, glorious bloom.
He threw his head back. 'I said everything changed when we had dinner together. What I didn't realise at first was how deep—how fundamental—the change had been. I didn't know I'd started to love you. Not then. Not immediately.