by Anne Mather
Of course, she wouldn’t. Since her return from Wales almost four months ago, her employer had been particularly nice to her, and although she suspected it was because he didn’t want to lose her it was good to feel needed.
By someone.
She took a deep breath and fought back the wave of anxiety that swept over her. She had nothing to be anxious about. Not really. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t been in this situation before, and she’d coped then. She could cope now. What had changed, after all? Nothing. And she’d been a fool to even imagine that it might.
All the same, the knowledge of the phone call she’d made three days ago weighed heavily on her conscience. She’d known at the time she was dialling Oliver’s number that she was probably making another stupid mistake, but that hadn’t stopped her from going through with it. She’d needed to speak to him; she’d needed closure, she’d told herself, if that was what it achieved. She couldn’t go on living in this vacuum of emotion, not knowing what, if anything, she might have rescued from the wreck she’d made of her life.
Predictably, perhaps, Oliver hadn’t been at home when she’d rung. His man, Thomas, had explained that he was in Spain taking pictures of bulls and bullrings for an exhibition of Spanish culture that was to be shown in London later in the year. When he’d asked her if she had any message she would like him to pass along, she’d demurred. ‘It wasn’t important,’ she’d assured him firmly, and then burst into tears as soon as she’d put down the phone.
Which seemed to prove that she hadn’t got over Oliver, after all. And that was the real reason she was feeling so anxious now. How long was it going to take for her to start feeling in control again? How long before she stopped scanning every newspaper, North American and English, for some word of him? How long before her life resumed its normal pattern and she could start feeling whole again?
Forever?
She expelled a rueful breath. Of course, if she hadn’t been scanning the papers so avidly, she might have missed the article about Natalie, she consoled herself. At least now she didn’t have to picture him and the beautiful model together. They had apparently split and Natalie was now engaged to be married to a Greek shipping tycoon. It must have been a whirlwind courtship, Laura reflected, unless Oliver and Natalie had broken up as soon as she’d returned to the States.
It was possible, she supposed. After the things Oliver had said, it would have been hypocritical of him to pretend that he and Natalie had a future together. But then, he had said a lot of things, most of which had gone over her head, and in the aftermath of learning of Stella’s betrayal Laura had found it difficult to take anything in.
That night—the night the truth had come out—didn’t seem quite real now. Stella’s affair with Dilys James’s husband— that was who she’d been phoning after the funeral, not Dilys—her father’s death; the duplicity over the second will; —it all seemed totally remote from her life here in New York. It was as if it had all happened to someone else and even now, four months on, she couldn’t quite believe it.
Perhaps that was why she’d been so willing to take the easy way out and return to the United States. Life was so much less complicated here and certainly Matt had been glad to see her back. He wasn’t interested in what her stepmother had done, or who owned Penmadoc. As far as he was concerned, she had a job to do, and if she didn’t want to do it he’d find someone who would.
Not that anyone else had attempted to change her mind. Apart from informing Marcus Venning that a new will had been found—and Oliver had done that—her contribution to events had been minimal. Despite his offer to take responsibility for what had happened, Laura had had no desire to take legal proceedings against either Oliver or his mother, and a story had been concocted as to why the will hadn’t been discovered before now. The fact that it had involved a missing key was something of an irony; but Marcus Venning was more concerned that her father should have felt the need to approach some obscure firm of solicitors in London, rather than admitting his personal grief to him, and hadn’t probed too deeply into their explanation.
Stella had left Penmadoc the morning after the scene in the study. With Jaz James’s help, she’d moved into a flat in Rhosmawr and, as far as Laura was aware, she was still there. Whether the affair would survive recent events was anyone’s guess. Stella had expected to inherit Penmadoc and with the sale of the house behind her she would have been a very wealthy woman. As it was, she was just another widow, living on a pension, and if that pension was rather more generous than most it was still considerably less than Jaz must have anticipated.
Laura’s lips flattened against her teeth. Her heart ached for what her father must have suffered in the months before he died. He’d obviously known Stella was being unfaithful to him, ergo the new will, but finding her with another man in his own house must have been the last straw.
Of course, it was always possible that his heart attack would have happened anyway. In her more charitable moments, Laura hoped that this was so. It made it a little easier to try and forgive her stepmother—although she knew she would never forget.
As far as her own psychic experiences were concerned, she was rather less certain. Although she thought she knew what she’d seen, she had to accept that she’d been in a particularly receptive mood, and the mind could play tricks on the eye. Of course, if she’d still been alive, her grandmother would have believed her, but the old lady had always been looking for evidence of second sight in her offspring. Whatever, Laura was sure she hadn’t imagined the change of atmosphere in the house after Stella had departed. Maybe there were such things as restless spirits, after all.
It had been agreed that Aunt Nell should continue to live at Penmadoc. Laura had given her aunt power of attorney to act in her absence, which meant the old lady wouldn’t have to apply to her for funds for the day-to-day running of the house. It suited Laura that way. Much as she loved the place, it would be a long time before she’d be able to face the thought of living there again.
Oliver had left for London as soon as the formalities had been dealt with. To get back to Natalie, she’d assumed, though subsequent events had cast doubt on that supposition. Whatever, he hadn’t seemed inclined to offer any explanation, and she’d left for New York without speaking to him privately again.
She had wondered if he might try to get in touch with her. Aunt Nell had her address and she’d left instructions that, should he ask for it, her aunt should feel free to pass it on. But she’d been back for almost four months now and it seemed that, as far as Oliver was concerned, she might as well have dropped off the roof of the world.
Then she’d read the article about Natalie.
At first, she’d decided it was nothing to do with her. As far as she knew, Oliver could be heartbroken over the severing of his relationship with the fashion model and any intervention on her part might be construed as interference. But then she’d started remembering the things he’d said to his mother that night in her father’s study and her spirits had taken a distinctly upward turn.
After all, it was possible that Oliver thought she didn’t want to talk to him. She’d given him very little encouragement to believe she’d be willing to listen to anything he had to say. After that scene in her hotel room and what had happened on the journey to Penmadoc, he must have felt he was fighting a losing battle with the past.
That was why she’d made that phone call. Straight away, so that she’d had no time to have second thoughts. But— Oliver hadn’t been available. He’d been too busy getting on with his life, and if she had any sense she’d do the same.
A cab cruised along the street below her. It was moving slowly as if the driver—or his passenger—was scanning the numbers on the buildings, looking for a particular address. It slowed outside the warehouse, above which she had her loft apartment, and then moved on down the street. The momentary thrill she’d felt at the prospect of a visitor quickly dissipated. Who was likely to come and see her? She blew out a tired breath.
She really would have to get herself a life.
The cab was coming back. Laura guessed the driver had unloaded his passenger and was hoping to pick up another fare to take back to Manhattan. But, to her astonishment, the cab stopped right outside her building and the rear door was thrust open to allow a man to get out.
Oliver!
Laura scrambled up from the banquette, almost spilling her coffee in her efforts to get away from the window. That was all she needed: for him to see her sitting there like some sad waif waiting for someone to notice her. She was supposed to be living the good life in New York. What was he going to think if he found her spending a lonely evening dwelling on the events of the past?
Did she care?
She inched back towards the window, using the silk drapes as a screen between her and what was going on outside. Oliver had evidently paid the driver because the cab was some distance away now, and she drew a sharp breath when she thought for a moment that Oliver had gone with him. But then he stepped back from under the overhang and looked up at her windows, and she realised he was probably trying to gauge if she was at home.
She could pretend to be out.
Drawing back, she gave the thought only a momentary consideration. What would be the point of that? she asked herself scornfully. Was her pride so great she was prepared to gamble on the chance of him coming back?
No!
As the doorbell rang, she was already hastening across the wide expanse of the living area, depositing her coffee cup on the breakfast bar, opening the door that led to the stairs. A steep flight led down to the outer door which, in common with most doors in New York, was fairly heavily secured.
For once, she didn’t attempt to identify her caller before opening the door, and she took an involuntary gulp of air when she pulled it inwards and found Oliver waiting outside. He looked so beloved, so familiar. It took an actual effort to merely stand aside and invite him to come in.
‘Hi,’ he said, evidently feeling some greeting was necessary, and Laura managed a faint smile as she closed the door behind him.
‘Hi,’ she said a little huskily. ‘Do you want to come up?’
Oliver took a deep breath. ‘Why not?’ he said, stepping back and indicating the stairs. ‘After you.’
Laura would have preferred to follow him. In dark trousers and a matching V-necked sweater, he looked good from any angle, while she was acutely conscious of the definite drawbacks of short dungarees and bare feet.
But being bashful now wasn’t going to get her anywhere, and, taking her courage in both hands, she hastened up the stairs in front of him.
He paused in the doorway to her apartment and looked around. The huge space had been divided into areas for living and cooking and sleeping, with the bathroom concealed behind opaque glass walls. Laura was quite proud of the way she’d furnished it, and the overall effect was one of lightness and comfort. Despite its size, underfloor heating could cope with the lowest temperatures, but this evening the windows were open and the breeze that rippled the rose-pink curtains brought the scent of the flowers that grew in the park across the way into the room.
Laura halted in the middle of the Chinese rug that defined the living area. Her knees felt decidedly shaky, and she would have liked nothing better than to curl up on the ivory velvet sofa, but until she knew why Oliver was here she knew she’d never be able to sit still.
‘Impressive,’ he said at last, coming into the apartment and closing the door. He glanced up at the wide skylight. ‘This would be a great place to have a studio.’
‘I suppose it would.’ Laura wondered if he was as nervous as she was, and then decided he couldn’t be. If he were, he wouldn’t be wasting time talking about her apartment. Or would he? ‘You’d know more about that than me.’
‘Yeah.’ Oliver’s lips tightened for a moment. ‘Yeah, I guess that’s one thing I do know about.’
Laura forced a smile. ‘You’re too modest.’
‘Am I?’ He shrugged. ‘I wouldn’t put money on it.’
Laura asked, ‘Can I—can I get you anything? Some coffee? A drink?’
‘Do you have anything alcoholic?’
‘I think so.’ Moving round him, Laura hurried into the small kitchen and opened the fridge. ‘Is a German beer okay?’
‘Anything,’ said Oliver, crossing the rug to the window. ‘Nice view.’
‘I like it.’ Laura hesitated over whether to offer him a glass and then decided she was being too formal. She came out of the kitchen again and held out the bottle. ‘There you go.’
‘Thanks.’
He came away from the window to take the bottle from her and their fingers touched. Laura drew her hand away immediately but she couldn’t stop her gaze from darting to his face. It was the first time she’d looked into his eyes since he’d come into the apartment and her breath caught at the instant awareness that leapt between them. It was as if something hot and heavy had entered the air and for a moment it was difficult to breathe.
‘Why did you phone?’
He spoke roughly, as if the words had been dragged out of him, and Laura wished she’d thought to pick up her cup of coffee in passing, to give her hands something to do.
‘Why—why did I phone?’ she echoed, her fingers opening and closing below the denim hems of her dungarees. She turned the question back on him. ‘Why—why do you think I phoned?’
‘Oh, no.’ Oliver swallowed a mouthful of his beer before regarding her impatiently. ‘I asked first.’ He took a deep breath. ‘Is something wrong?’
Laura’s jaw was in danger of dropping, but she managed to control it. ‘What could be wrong?’ she countered. ‘Did— did Thomas tell you I’d said that something was wrong?’
Oliver closed his eyes for a moment and then opened them again to give her a weary look. ‘Why are you doing this, Laura?’ he asked. ‘It’s a simple question. I want to know why you rang. What’s the matter? Do you wish you hadn’t?’
‘No!’ She swallowed. ‘No, of course not.’
‘Then why did you ring?’ he persisted. ‘I—have to know. I need to know.’ He heaved a sigh. ‘Can’t you tell me if I’ve made another stupid mistake by coming here?’
Laura’s tongue circled her upper lip. ‘You haven’t,’ she said swiftly. Then, before she could lose her nerve, she added, ‘I—I’m glad you came.’
‘Are you?’
He didn’t sound as if he believed her and she hurried to reassure him. ‘Yes. Yes, I am. I wanted to see you.’ She paused, half afraid that she was presuming too much. ‘I—I wanted to tell you how sorry I was when I read about—about you and Natalie.’
Incredulity entered his features now. ‘Me and Natalie?’ he echoed disbelievingly. ‘You’re not serious.’
‘Why not?’ Laura endeavoured to sound convincing. ‘I read about her engagement to some Greek ship owner in the newspaper.’ She lifted her shoulders. ‘You split up.’
Oliver stared at her for a long moment and then raised the bottle to his lips again. She watched the strong muscles of his throat work as he drank the cold beer and then flinched when he lowered the bottle and turned a contemptuous gaze on her.
‘You phoned to commiserate with me about Natalie?’ he said harshly. ‘Gee, thanks.’
Laura quivered. ‘Don’t speak to me like that. I didn’t know how you’d feel about it.’
‘Didn’t you? Didn’t you?’ He almost sounded as if he blamed her for the break-up. ‘Get real, Laura. You knew exactly how I’d feel about it.’
‘But I don’t.’ The words were wrung from her, and she thrust her hands into the pockets of her dungarees to hide their agitation from him. ‘I don’t know anything.’
Oliver’s mouth compressed and he turned, very slowly, and deposited the bottle on the window seat behind him. Then, turning back, he said flatly, ‘I’m supposed to believe that?’
‘Yes. Yes.’
‘Well, what the hell do you think I’m doing here?’ he demanded, and she re
alised that although she’d thought he looked much the same as usual there were distinct hollows beneath his eyes.
But she couldn’t mention them, not when he was waiting for an answer, and, curling her fists into balls, she said, ‘I don’t know, do I? Maybe you’ve got an assignment in New York. Maybe you thought you’d just—look me up.’
‘Oh, right.’ Oliver shook his head. ‘That would have been convenient, wouldn’t it? An assignment in New York turning up just three days after your call?’
‘It could have happened,’ she protested, and he gave her a disparaging look.
‘No, it couldn’t,’ he said harshly. ‘I was in Seville—should still be in Seville, if everybody had their rights. But I’m not.’
Laura stared at him. ‘You—you came back—for me?’
‘Yes, I came back for you,’ he said impatiently. ‘For God’s sake, Laura, I thought something must have happened—’ He broke off wearily. ‘I thought you needed me.’
‘Oh, I do.’
Laura’s cry was heartfelt, and Oliver gazed at her with tormented eyes. ‘Do you mean that?’ he asked hoarsely, and she knew she couldn’t prevaricate any longer.
‘Yes. Yes, I mean it,’ she said huskily, reaching for him, and with a muffled oath Oliver captured her hands with his.
‘God, Laura,’ he said, taking her hands behind his back, bringing her close to his lean, muscled body. ‘Do you like putting me through this kind of torture?’ His mouth nuzzled her cheek. ‘Don’t you think I’ve suffered enough?’
Laura couldn’t speak. For so long she’d accepted that anything there might have been between her and Oliver had been destroyed by his mother’s treachery. Even knowing that he’d wanted to make love to her when they were in London hadn’t been enough to breach all those years of pain and humiliation when she’d believed that the love they’d shared had meant as little to him as his mother had said. But, suddenly, anything was possible, and when his mouth first nudged and then took possession of hers she had no hesitation in arching against him and parting her lips for his kiss.