Книга - Melting Fire

Melting Fire
Anne Mather


Mills & Boon are excited to present The Anne Mather Collection – the complete works by this classic author made available to download for the very first time! These books span six decades of a phenomenal writing career, and every story is available to read unedited and untouched from their original release. Making the break…Olivia owes her step-brother Richard everything - but now she is an adult, and determined to make her own way in the world. And yet Richard seems just as determined not to let her go… He has been very generous, but that doesn’t give him the right to dictate how she should live now!Olivia knows that the only way to solve her problem is to leave Richard altogether – but why is she finding it so difficult to break away? Her feelings for Richard are clearly more complicated than she’d first thought…










Mills & Boon is proud to present a fabulous collection of fantastic novels by bestselling, much loved author

ANNE MATHER

Anne has a stellar record of achievement within the

publishing industry, having written over one hundred

and sixty books, with worldwide sales of more than

forty-eight MILLION copies in multiple languages.

This amazing collection of classic stories offers a chance

for readers to recapture the pleasure Anne’s powerful,

passionate writing has given.

We are sure you will love them all!


I’ve always wanted to write—which is not to say I’ve always wanted to be a professional writer. On the contrary, for years I only wrote for my own pleasure and it wasn’t until my husband suggested sending one of my stories to a publisher that we put several publishers’ names into a hat and pulled one out. The rest, as they say, is history. And now, one hundred and sixty-two books later, I’m literally—excuse the pun—staggered by what’s happened.

I had written all through my infant and junior years and on into my teens, the stories changing from children’s adventures to torrid gypsy passions. My mother used to gather these manuscripts up from time to time, when my bedroom became too untidy, and dispose of them! In those days, I used not to finish any of the stories and Caroline, my first published novel, was the first I’d ever completed. I was newly married then and my daughter was just a baby, and it was quite a job juggling my household chores and scribbling away in exercise books every chance I got. Not very professional, as you can imagine, but that’s the way it was.

These days, I have a bit more time to devote to my work, but that first love of writing has never changed. I can’t imagine not having a current book on the typewriter—yes, it’s my husband who transcribes everything on to the computer. He’s my partner in both life and work and I depend on his good sense more than I care to admit.

We have two grown-up children, a son and a daughter, and two almost grown-up grandchildren, Abi and Ben. My e-mail address is mystic-am@msn.com (mailto:mystic-am@msn.com) and I’d be happy to hear from any of my wonderful readers.




Melting Fire

Anne Mather





www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)




Table of Contents


Cover (#uc8bd26ed-bcb1-5284-a73c-b570fbf13f8b)

About the Author (#uc8da5e92-cb23-53eb-9fb7-9771e16b7430)

Title Page (#u632ce7a8-058e-5761-8ee9-eb98e4dd13e0)

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)




CHAPTER ONE (#ub4682be8-2d1c-57e4-b3ad-f2126f740109)


LONDON AIRPORT was crammed with holidaymakers trying to get out of the city, a circumstance which was not improved by striking baggage-handlers, refusing to load and offload luggage. Frustrated matrons, trailing fractious children, struggled after their burdened husbands, and the general chaos which ensued rivalled Wembley Stadium on Cup Final day.

Olivia, weighted down by her own two cases, was glad she was not going in the opposite direction. Her flight had landed without delay, and only a handful of passengers had been obliged to sort out their belongings. It didn’t make her suitcases any less heavy, but it had saved time. The rather handsome young man who had been sitting across from her in the plane had offered to help, but he had had cases of his own, plus an assortment of sporting equipment which labelled him a tennis pro, and she had smilingly declined. Besides, she had expected Richard to be here to meet her, and had looked forward to the young man’s speculation when her stepbrother appeared on the scene. He had watched Jules kiss her a lingering goodbye in Paris, and she anticipated his reactions to the man meeting her in London with pleasurable amusement. But Richard had not appeared, and as her arms began to ache, and she began to sweat, irritation overtook all other emotions. Richard should have been here, she thought frustratedly. It was the least he could do when it was more than eight months since she had seen him. His trip to New York at Christmas had coincided with her homecoming, and at Easter she had stayed in Paris with a girl friend because he had been in South America. Surely he could have made an effort to be in London at the end of July.

She emerged from the Customs hall to find Alex Bishop, her brother’s personal assistant, waiting for her. The sight of him only added to her annoyance, knowing as she did that had Richard troubled to come himself he could have pulled strings and met her off the aircraft. Alex Bishop, on the other hand, would never do a thing like that. He was quite content to wait in the lounge, realising that sooner or later she would come through.

‘Hello, Olivia,’ he greeted her politely now, taking the cases from her unresisting fingers. ‘Did you have a pleasant flight?’

Olivia pursed her lips for a moment, and then allowed a sigh of resignation to escape her. What was the point of railing at one of Richard’s bright young men? It wasn’t Alex’s fault that her stepbrother wasn’t here, and if she wanted to sustain Richard’s good humour, it wouldn’t be politic to be rude to Alex Bishop.

‘Very pleasant, thank you,’ she responded now, as they crossed the rubber flooring to the automatic doors. ‘Apart from having to carry my own cases.’ She paused. ‘How are you? How’s Richard?’

Alex Bishop allowed her to precede him through the sliding doors, and they emerged into the dusty sunlight of the terminal area. The smell of oil and diesel permeated the air, but the sight of Richard’s dark blue Mercedes was a welcome relief. The sleek limousine nudged the kerb, impervious to the double yellow lines that signified ‘No Waiting’, and Olivia settled herself in the front passenger seat as Alex stowed her cases in the boot.

He came to join her a few moments later, folding his lanky length behind the wheel, and casting a shy, admiring glance in her direction. ‘You look well,’ he commented, inserting the key in the ignition, and Olivia stifled her annoyance at his avoidance of answering her question.

The next few minutes were taken up with negotiating the traffic building up outside Terminal 1. Chartered buses, unable to depart on schedule because their passengers were still sorting out their luggage, clogged the departure lanes, and there was much heavy braking and honking of horns as impatient motorists sought to escape the worst holdups of peak hour traffic.

‘It doesn’t get any better,’ observed Alex apologetically, his thin face mirroring his regret. ‘I think we’ll have to copy the Americans and use helicopters to get from place to place.’

Olivia surveyed the scene with a jaundiced eye. ‘I’m sure if helicopters are the answer, Richard will get one,’ she retorted dryly, deliberately bringing her stepbrother’s name into the conversation again. ‘You didn’t tell me. How is he?’

Alex flushed, and without his answering, Olivia didn’t have to be told that her stepbrother was in the best of health. It was a continual source of embarrassment to Alex that he should be the one who met her from boarding school, or handed over her allowance, or wrote to her when some change in the arrangements was being made. He knew, as well as she did, that Richard made use of him this way, and he was the one who always had to withstand Olivia’s disappointments.

But not this time, she decided shortly. If Richard couldn’t be bothered to come and meet her when they hadn’t seen or spoken to one another for so long, why should she get upset? She wasn’t a schoolgirl any longer, and he was no longer the axis on which her world revolved.

She allowed her gaze to rest on Alex’s features, as he sought to find a suitable reply. How old was he? she speculated. Thirty-two? Thirty-three, maybe. He had worked for Richard for at least the last twelve years, and as his personal assistant for perhaps five years of that time. He had witnessed Olivia’s transformation from a tunic-clad schoolgirl of seven or eight to the expensively turned-out product of the academy she was today, but he had never lost the shyness he always exhibited in her presence. Why? she wondered. She had been a tearful baby, going away to school for the first time, when he joined Richard’s staff. She ought to have been in awe of him. But it had never worked that way.

‘Don’t tell me,’ she said now, as they turned on to the M.4. ‘Richard’s involved in some terrifically important deal, and he sends his apologies for not meeting me, but it was just impossible for him to get away!’

Alex cast an embarrassed look in her direction, and then, allowing the powerful car to gather momentum, he said: ‘As a matter of fact, your stepbrother isn’t in England at the moment, Olivia. He did send his apologies, but he had to fly to Athens on Tuesday——’

‘Athens!’

Olivia’s newly-adopted independence vanished beneath a wave of indignation. The usual spate of recriminations sprang to her lips, and she had to bite them back as she sought to regain her composure. Richard was not at Copley, he was in Athens. And as indifferent to her homecoming as he had ever been.

‘I wrote you about the deal with Kuriakis, didn’t I?’ Alex was saying hurriedly. ‘You know what Greeks are like—very sociable people. When Aristotle phoned, Rich had no choice but to accept his invitation. Not that it’s wholly sociable, of course,’ he added, the colour deepening in his normally pale face. ‘There’s more business done across the dinner table than in the office, if you see what I mean …’

Olivia’s slender fingers separated across her knees. She would not get upset, she told herself fiercely. She was a grown woman now, intelligent and mature enough to accept her graduation from St. Helena’s without requiring congratulations or a welcome home party. Richard had sent her to Paris, not only to finish her education, but to gain assurance and self-possession, and if he returned to tears and resentment he would never believe she was old enough to govern her own life.

‘I’m sorry.’ Alex, unaware of the mental battle going on inside her, gazed at her anxiously. ‘He’ll be back tomorrow, or Sunday at the very latest. I know he’s disappointed to miss your homecoming——’

‘Don’t give me sympathy, Alex!’ Olivia could no longer suppress the need for self-expression. ‘We both know that all Richard cares about is the company, and not being at Copley when I get back means less than nothing to him!’

‘Oh, I don’t think——’

‘Well, I do,’ she interrupted him shortly. ‘Please, Alex, spare me the excuses. If Richard had had to go to—to Alice Springs or—Timbuktu, to further his own ends, he’d have done it.’

Alex’s bony fingers tightened on the steering wheel, but he made no further attempt to argue with her. He didn’t like her talking about her stepbrother like that, and she knew it. Richard’s employees were intensely loyal, which said something for him, she supposed grudgingly, but no one could deny that Richard enjoyed the power his position afforded. She supposed he deserved the success which had come to him, she conceded, pleating the fine silk jersey of the dress she had worn specially to impress him. Since his father died he had built the small processing plant he had left into one of the largest chemical corporations in the world, but in so doing he had lost touch with the minor details, like her homecoming, for example. She didn’t need Alex to tell her that he employed a lot of people, that whole families depended on him for their livelihood, that it wasn’t reasonable for her to expect him to throw his responsibilities aside just because the girl he had cared for since their parents were killed fifteen years ago was returning from her finishing school in France. She just wished for once that she might have figured first in his list of commitments, instead of coming last, as always.

Now she took a deep breath, and changing the subject completely asked: ‘How is Bella? She’s at home, isn’t she? I can’t wait to see her again. I’ve missed her so much.’

Alex visibly relaxed. ‘Miss Ponsonby is very well,’ he assured her. ‘I know she’s looking forward to your arrival. She’s talked of little else for the past three weeks.’

Olivia sighed, a small smile of satisfaction curving her lips. Dear Bella, she thought reminiscently, what would they have done without her?

Miss Isabella Ponsonby had been Richard’s nanny many years ago, long before Olivia’s own father had died, and Mrs Ross had married Matthew Jenner. Miss Ponsonby had stayed on after the wedding, continuing to run the household as she had done since Richard’s mother had run away with an American banker she had met at a party in London five years before. The second Mrs Jenner was not a robust character, and she had been glad to delegate her responsibilities to the capable hands of a housekeeper, but during a holiday abroad, the Jenners were killed in a car crash, and Bella had become mother as well as nanny to the infant Olivia. She had cared for the child with all the devotion she had once lavished on Richard, and apart from her stepbrother, had become the most important person in Olivia’s small world. The tragedy had been easier for Richard to bear. He was already a man, twenty-two, and graduating after a year at the Harvard Business School …

Olivia deliberately turned her head to stare out at the undulating Berkshire countryside. She would not think of Richard now, she decided impatiently. She would think of Paris, and Jules, and the exciting news she had to impart to Bella. Her lips parted in anticipation of the astonishment Bella would display. She had always refused to accept that Olivia was growing up, but when she learned about Jules, she would have to revise her opinion. Jules Merignac, she mused dreamily. The Jules Merignac, and he had singled her out for attention. She tilted her head critically, surreptitiously studying her reflection in the mirror secured to the sun visor. He had said he was in love with her, he had asked her to delay her departure for London; and when she had insisted she had to go home, he had told her he would follow her to England. Certainly his kiss of farewell at Charles de Gaulle airport had been more intimate than any kiss she had experienced so far, and little shivers of excitement had run along her spine at the prospect of sharing more than kisses with him.

Some of the girls at the Academy already had lovers, knew all there was to know about having a relationship with a man, but so far Olivia felt herself to be irritatingly innocent. In England, Richard deterred all the boys she met at the golf and tennis clubs, and the overtures she had had were more than a little daunted by her stepbrother’s power and position. They didn’t seem to understand that she had never really felt herself part of the Jenner corporation, that her mother’s marriage to Matthew Jenner had been months rather than years old when they were killed, and she herself was very much the poor relation. Not that she had ever been treated that way. The schools she had attended, the clothes she had worn, had all been the best that money could buy. But it was Richard’s money, not hers, and their relationship was a tenuous thing at best. She loved him, of course, and she thought that he was genuinely fond of her, but he was not really her brother, and she sometimes wished she wasn’t so dependent upon him.

‘Have you heard of Jules Merignac?’ she asked Alex now, and was gratified when he told her that he had.

‘He’s a French pop singer, isn’t he?’ he asked, without taking his eyes from the road. ‘He plays the guitar, too, doesn’t he? I’ve seen him a couple of times on television. Why?’ He chanced a look at her. ‘Did you meet him?’

‘Yes.’ Olivia enjoyed the feeling of power saying so gave her. ‘I met him. Several times, in fact.’

It was only three actually, but there was no need to tell Alex that. However, his: ‘Really!’ was irritatingly unimpressed, and she said rashly:

‘He asked me to have dinner with him, and I did. He saw me off at the airport this afternoon actually.’ She tugged a strand of red-gold hair and twined it round her finger. ‘All the other girls were madly jealous.’

‘Indeed.’

Alex’s tone was dry now, and she was tempted to say something that would really shock him. But the knowledge that their conversation would no doubt be relayed to Richard, verbatim, encouraged her to guard her tongue.

Instead, she half turned towards him, giving him the full benefit of her exquisite profile, and rested her bare elbow on the back of his seat, beside his shoulder. It might be fun to see if the things she had learned had any effect on Alex, she considered wickedly, but again the thought of her stepbrother’s reaction was an effective deterrent.

‘Tell me, Alex,’ she murmured reflectively, ‘haven’t you ever wanted to get married? Working for Richard is a demanding occupation, I know, but you must have a life of your own.’

Alex shifted a little uncomfortably, and she sensed his awareness of her firm breasts surging against the low round bodice of her dress. It was tantalising to know she could disturb him in this way, and she deliberately lifted her arm to remove the weight of her hair from her nape, allowing the fragrant perfume she used to drift about him. It occurred to her that he was as innocent as she was, more so probably, she decided wryly, for with her new-found knowledge she was at least aware of her own sexuality.

‘I don’t think about it,’ Alex confessed now, accelerating to overtake a lumbering pantechnicon. ‘I’m afraid I’d make very poor husband material.’

‘Why do you say that?’ she protested, but the glance he cast her way was only reproving.

‘Oughtn’t you to fasten your safety belt, Olivia?’ he suggested dampeningly. ‘We’re travelling at approximately sixty miles an hour, and if we should hit a vehicle travelling at a similar speed——’

‘—we’d both be killed!’ retorted Olivia, but she twisted round in her seat and obediently clipped the seat belt into place. What was the point of baiting him? He was far too conscious of provoking Richard’s disfavour to respond to her, and besides, Richard would never believe she could be serious about Jules if Alex related that she had been attempting to flirt with him.

She settled back to enjoy what remained of the journey. It was pleasant in the Mercedes, with the open roof fanning her forehead, and the breeze blowing across them from the open windows. There was nowhere like England on a hot summer’s day, she thought reluctantly, though Richard’s absence still had the power to sour her mood.

Copley lay on the borders of Berkshire and Oxfordshire. It was a small estate which Richard had bought eight years ago, and from the first Olivia had loved it. She had tried not to, telling herself it was only her home so long as Richard remained a bachelor, and that being his stepsister gave her no rights to organise his house. But it hadn’t worked that way. Because Richard spent so much time abroad, her visits to Copley often encompassed weeks when she had the place to herself, excluding the staff and dear Bella, of course, and as a matter of course, they all deferred to her as Richard’s deputy.

Alex had turned off the motorway towards Wallingford, and just inside the Oxfordshire border he swung on to the narrow country road which led to the village of West Cross. Copley lay a couple of miles beyond the village, and Olivia couldn’t prevent the glow of excitement she felt as they left the narrow streets of the village behind and approached the gates of her home.

The estate comprised some fifteen acres of orchard and parkland, and the area immediately surrounding the house provided tennis courts and a swimming pool, as well as cultivated gardens and a pergola-hung patio. Richard kept horses, too, but for stud purposes mostly, although he had several hunters which he ran at point-to-point meetings.

The house itself was of traditional design, with gabled windows, and ivy-hung walls. Parts of it were said to date from the eighteenth century, but the main building had been largely restored, and boasted no particular period. It was just a very attractive country house, Olivia had stated, when her love affair with the place first began, and Richard had agreed that it served the purpose.

Miss Ponsonby appeared long before Alex had circled the courtyard that fronted the house and brought the limousine to a halt at the foot of the steps leading up to the porch. Small and bustling, she fretted impatiently as he parked the powerful car, and then tugged open Olivia’s door herself. Olivia scrambled out and was immediately enfolded in the nursemaid’s warm embrace, inhaling again the fragrance of Devonshire violets she always associated with Miss Ponsonby.

‘It’s so good to see you!’ the older woman exclaimed, half annoyed at the tears that moistened her eyes. ‘All these months, and never a visit! How could you treat your old Bella so?’

Olivia sighed as she extricated herself, smoothing her tumbled hair with a careless hand. ‘Oh, Bella, I wanted to see you!’ she protested smilingly, ‘but Michelle invited me to stay with them at Easter and as Richard was away …’

‘I know. You didn’t give a thought to me, here on my own,’ retorted Bella reprovingly, but there was no censure in the words. ‘Come along, then. I’ve got tea waiting, and while we have it you can tell me all your news.’

‘Yes,’ Olivia murmured, as Alex extracted her cases from the boot and carried them up the steps and into the house, but now that she was actually here, she felt a certain reluctance to expose her feelings for Jules to the cold light of day. Richard would be scathing, she expected that, but she didn’t think she could bear it if Bella was not enthusiastic. She felt too unsure of herself, too vulnerable, to withstand anyone’s criticism, and she had a ridiculous desire to keep her secret just a little longer.

The hall of Copley was cool after the dusty heat outside. The drone of a distant tractor was muted within its maple panelling, dark and polished, reflecting the colours of a vase of asters and lupins that occupied the antique table in the curve of the stairs. A warm gold and blue carpet was soft to the feet, and Jess, Richard’s Irish wolfhound, came yawning across it to greet her. Fondling the bitch’s grey head, Olivia chided her for the lazy animal she was, pushing the probing tongue away and informing her that she didn’t earn her keep.

Alex had apparently carried her cases upstairs, and Olivia followed Bella into the sitting room, flopping down lazily on to the squashy cushions of the velvet sofa. Looking about her, she was struck anew by the beauty of this room that was so lived-in, and yet retained its air of casual elegance. Its pale walls were hung with some of Richard’s collection of miniatures, and in the window embrasure a baby grand piano supported a bowl of cream roses. Occasionally Richard could be persuaded to play to them in the evenings, but mostly he spent his time closeted in his study across the hall, and woe betide anyone who dared to interrupt him when he was working.

The room was kept cool by the french doors open on to the terrace beyond, and the long cream curtains moved languidly in the faint breeze that stirred the wind chimes Richard had brought back from Japan. A tea trolley resided on the hearth before the marble fireplace, which was still used on winter evenings, and Bella had seated herself beside it and was presently pouring tea. The exquisite bone china service had been a gift to Richard’s father and his new wife on the occasion of their wedding, and Olivia accepted her cup eagerly, looking forward to the ritual. She liked coffee, and indeed at breakfast time she would drink nothing else, but there was something intensely satisfying about afternoon tea.

‘So …’ Bella offered her a wafer-thin sandwich, and after Olivia had bitten into its smoked salmon filling, she added: ‘Tell me about Paris. Is it still as exciting as you thought? Or are you glad to be home again?’

Olivia chose her words with caution. ‘Paris is always exciting,’ she remarked offhandedly, helping herself to another sandwich. ‘Mmm, these are delicious, Bella. And are those strawberries under that cover? Ooh, gorgeous! I love strawberries and cream on a hot afternoon.’

Bella contained her curiosity, and spooned some of the juicy berries into a dish. ‘Thomas picked them this morning, especially for you,’ she observed dryly. ‘He told me there were none yesterday when Mrs Morrison came to tea, and then this afternoon, he produced all these.’

Olivia chuckled, touched that the old gardener should have wanted to please her, when she had neglected Copley for so long. ‘I’ll go and thank him afterwards. He knows they’re my favourite fruit.’

‘Yes.’ Bella eyed her candidly. ‘Well, you look all right, I must say. A bit skinny perhaps, but I expect that’s all that fancy French cooking.’

‘I beg your pardon!’ Olivia pretended offence, sitting up and pushing her breasts forward. ‘I’ll have you know, my figure was the envy of a lot of girls.’ She looked down in mock appraisal. ‘I must say, I thought it wasn’t bad myself.’

‘Excuse me …’

Alex was standing in the doorway, watching the proceedings, and Olivia subsided with an embarrassed giggle. Bella looked at the young man ruefully, and smiling said: ‘Come along in, Alex. You’re not interrupting anything. Do you want some tea?’

‘Oh, no, thank you.’ Alex’s thin face was still a little flushed. ‘I—er—I’ve put Olivia’s cases in her room and now I thought I’d go to the bank. Is there anything you want in Chelmsbury?’

Bella hesitated. ‘I don’t think so, Alex, thank you. How about you, Olivia? Can Alex get anything for you?’

Olivia forced herself to sit up, shaking her head. ‘I’ve got everything I need,’ she assured him, smilingly. ‘But if you’re going in tomorrow afternoon, I’ll have a lift with you. I can always trot around the shops while you attend to your own affairs.’

Alex’s responding smile was stiff. ‘I’ll take you into Chelmsbury, any time you want to go,’ he assured her politely, and then left them as abruptly as he had appeared.

A few moments later, the sound of the Mercedes’ engine started up and the crunch of the tyres on the gravelled drive signified his departure, and Bella heaved a sigh of relief.

‘Honestly, that man is so intense,’ she declared. ‘And you mustn’t tease him. I’d hate for there to be complications.’

‘Complications?’ Olivia frowned. ‘What kind of complications?’

‘Oh …’ Bella shifted uncomfortably, pouring herself a second cup of tea. ‘You know! If he should get the wrong ideas about you. I know Richard would never countenance such a thing, and Alex would get terribly hurt in the process.’

Olivia gasped. ‘You’re not serious!’

‘Why ever not? You’re a very attractive young woman, as well you know, and Alex is a man, just like any other. Don’t let his controlled manner fool you. He’s just as susceptible to flattery as anyone else.’

Olivia moved her slim shoulders in a helpless gesture. ‘I never thought … I mean, heavens, he’s at least twelve years older than I am.’

‘What’s that to the purpose? Richard’s father was almost twenty years older than your mother,’ retorted Bella severely, and then left the matter to ask about the friends Olivia had made in France, and the Charpentiers, whom she had stayed with at Easter.

It was easy enough for Olivia to talk about Michelle and her family. They lived at Tours, in the Loire valley, and Olivia had been enchanted by their home and the surrounding countryside. There were orchards and vineyards, and the chateaux which were world-famous, and Michelle and her two brothers had enjoyed showing her their historic heritage. They had driven to Angers and Orleans, visited Amboise, where Leonardo da Vinci had lived and died, and eaten some of the most superb food Olivia had ever tasted. They had even attended a wine fair, she confessed, but noticing how put out Bella was looking, she quickly assured her that she was glad to be home, and that Copley was her first love.

‘These young men,’ said Bella, as Olivia attacked her dish of strawberries and cream, ‘Michelle’s brothers: they were attracted to you?’

Olivia felt the colour invading her cheeks, and delved more deeply into her bowl. ‘I suppose so,’ she mumbled, remembering the older one, Paul, who had taught her there was more to kissing than the pressure of two pairs of lips, and saw Bella’s mouth turn down at the corners. ‘They were boys, that’s all,’ she protested, half laughing now. ‘Seventeen and eighteen, I think. They didn’t seduce me, if that’s what you’re afraid of.’

Bella snorted, but her eyes were piercing. ‘Has anyone?’

‘No!’ Olivia was indignant. ‘Of course not.’ But she knew Jules would have tried to if they had known one another longer. It was the way, after all. All the girls said so, even Michelle, who was engaged to a young medical student from the hospital in Tours. His name had been Charles, and Olivia had found him quite amusing until he tried to corner her on the first floor landing of the Charpentiers’ house one evening when his fiancée was watching television downstairs. She hadn’t liked that. It had made her feel dirty. And she had been glad they were returning to Paris the next day so that Michelle should not find out and be hurt.

‘I never approved of your going to that French academy,’ Bella was saying now, as Olivia finished her strawberries and pushed the dish aside. ‘An innocent young girl in a place like that. Asking for trouble, that’s what I say.’

‘But Richard wanted me to go,’ exclaimed Olivia patiently. ‘I think he wanted me to grow up, to be independent. He knew that boarding school in England hadn’t achieved so much, and going away, to another country, was bound to make me more self-reliant.’

‘Mmm.’ Bella sounded unconvinced. ‘Well, I can’t say I’m not glad you’re back, and for good. There’s plenty for you to do here, and I’ve no doubt the telephone will start ringing just as soon as your friends hear that you’re home.’

‘Oh, but …’ Olivia caught her lower lip between her teeth, and then released it again. ‘I can’t stay here for ever, Bella. I mean—sooner or later I’m bound to go away, aren’t I? And if I took a job, or got married——’

‘Married!’ Bella sounded horrified. ‘And who are you going to marry, may I ask?’ Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. ‘Are you keeping something from me? Is there something I should know about? You’ve not met some young man you’re not telling me about, have you?’

‘Oh, no. No!’

Olivia rose abruptly to her feet, unable to sit still beneath Bella’s penetrating appraisal. She walked quickly across to the french doors, thrusting her hands into the pockets of her dress and staring out broodingly on to the manicured green lawns beyond the terrace. She couldn’t confide in Bella yet, she decided uneasily. She needed time, time to adjust to her new freedom, to the possibilities that now faced her. When the time was right, she would tell her about Jules, but until then …

‘Aren’t the rhododendrons beautiful?’

Bella’s voice at her elbow startled her, but she managed to answer casually enough. The huge banks of flowering shrubs were a splendid sight, and the scents of a dozen different species of plant-life filled the air with their perfume. Copley was beautiful, there was no denying it, and she would miss all this when she had to leave. But it was what Richard expected of her, and besides, she was almost a woman. She needed more than the sanctuary of Copley could give her.




CHAPTER TWO (#ub4682be8-2d1c-57e4-b3ad-f2126f740109)


OLIVIA ran the shower cold, and was shivering when she emerged from the cubicle. Clutching a huge yellow bath-sheet about her, she padded into the bedroom, her bare feet making damp patches on the soft white carpet. Standing before the long wardrobe mirror, she towelled herself dry vigorously, and then allowed the folds of towelling to fall about her ankles.

The reflection facing her was of a girl of nineteen or so, with a wealth of curly red-gold hair tumbling about her shoulders. Her breasts were firm and well-developed, and her waist was small, and long shapely legs drew attention to narrow ankles. An appealing combination, no doubt, but Olivia was not impressed by her attributes. She had viewed them too many times to feel any sense of accomplishment in her appearance, and her greatest concern at the moment was how best to explain to Bella—and Richard—that she wanted to get a job. She hadn’t yet decided what kind of job she wanted. Office work of some kind, she supposed, or maybe as she was good at languages, she could get a job as an interpreter. But where? Not in Chelmsbury, she realised. London was the only likely place, which would mean either travelling the forty or so miles every day to the city, or getting accommodation in town.

She sighed, turning away to rummage through her dressing table drawers for clean underwear. Richard travelled every day, when he was at home. He drove to Chelmsbury, and caught the early morning commuter train into the city. So long as he was at home, she might travel with him. He did keep an apartment in town, but it was for entertainment purposes mostly, and almost every evening when he was at home he returned to Copley. But when he was away …

Frowning, she stepped into bikini briefs, and followed them with a pair of cream-coloured Levis. Then she knotted a sleeveless shirt beneath her breasts, and began to pull her hairbrush through the tangled weight of hair. It was much too long, she thought, tugging viciously at a recalcitrant strand, and she would certainly have it cut before she took up any employment. Why couldn’t it have been straight, like Richard’s hair? she wondered impatiently, and flung the brush down in disgust as it refused to respond to such rough treatment.

A tentative knock at her bedroom door dissipated her annoyance, and she called: ‘Who is it?’ smiling affectionately when Bella’s grey head appeared.

‘Oh, you are up,’ she said, coming right into the room. ‘I sent Eliza up with your breakfast, just in case you wanted to spend the morning in bed.’

‘On a day like this!’ Olivia indicated the cloudless sky beyond her open windows. ‘I can’t wait to get outside. I intend to get really brown before——’

She broke off abruptly, half expecting Bella to take her up on it, but the older woman was busy straightening the pale green undersheet on the bed, plumping the lace-edged pillows.

‘I’m going to cycle into West Cross this morning,’ Bella declared, straightening with Olivia’s striped cotton nightshirt in her hands. ‘I promised Mrs Morrison I’d call and see old Mr Raynor. He hasn’t been at all well lately, and I thought I’d take him some of my home-made strawberry jam. I want to call at the church anyway with some flowers, so I thought I’d kill two birds with one stone, as they say. Do you want to come?’

Olivia hesitated. Mrs Morrison was the vicar’s wife, and although she was good-hearted enough, she was a terrible gossip. She would welcome Olivia’s return as a new source of conversation, and it was too nice a day to waste in idle chatter.

‘I don’t think so,’ she answered now, sorry she had to disappoint Bella. ‘I thought I might sunbathe. Can I use the pool?’

‘Considering Richard left orders for Thomas to clean it out specially before he went away, I think perhaps you might,’ retorted Bella shortly, and Olivia flushed.

‘That was kind of him,’ she offered awkwardly, and Bella sniffed.

‘Yes—well, people try to be kind to you,’ she averred, picking up Olivia’s used breakfast tray and marching towards the door. ‘They may not understand these newfangled ideas you have about independence, though,’ she added, and left the room.

Olivia watched her go with troubled eyes. She knew Bella was referring to the conversation they had had over the dinner table the previous evening. Olivia had tried, not very successfully, to persuade her old nursemaid that she couldn’t remain a drain on Richard’s resources any longer, but Bella had been obstinately stubborn. If Olivia was a drain, then what was she? she insisted, deliberately ignoring the fact that she had a job running the household, supplementing her argument with the opinion that to a man of Richard’s means, the support of his stepsister was not only his duty, but his pleasure. Olivia’s protest that Richard’s means had nothing to do with it met with blank indifference, and Bella had retired to bed soon afterwards, complaining of a severe headache.

Now Olivia left her bedroom and walked slowly along the hall to the landing. Her room was at the back of the house, overlooking the tennis courts and the stables beyond, and as she passed Richard’s door she felt her lips tighten. She guessed that he would share Bella’s opinion, and it was frustrating to realise that their feelings were justified.

On impulse she stopped, and opening Richard’s door she entered his bedroom. This was the master bedroom of the house, and overlooked the courtyard at the front of the building. Because it was occupied solely by a man, it was sombrely furnished in shades of brown and gold, but the drift of apricot silk at the windows provided a vivid splash of colour. Bella had already been into this room, Olivia guessed, noticing the open sashes, and the coolness that came from the shadow of the north side of the house. Later in the day, the room would be bathed in the afternoon rays of the sun, but presently it was chilly.

Olivia sauntered lazily round the square fourposter bed, which Richard had bought along with the house, and picked up the framed portrait of herself standing on his bedside table. She grimaced. The picture had been taken over a year ago, and to her eyes she looked terribly young and puppy-fat. It had been taken while she was still at boarding school, and although she wasn’t wearing her uniform, her hair was neatly plaited into one thick braid. She remembered he had taken it himself, in the garden here at Copley, and she was smiling that inane smile which meant he had been especially nice to her.

She thrust the picture down again, wondering how he could bear to see that every morning when he woke up, and walked across to the windows, resting her arms on the sill. From here it was possible to see the lane beyond their drive, winding away to the village, and the whole wooded sweep of the valley, lush with the ripeness of summer.

A crunching on the gravel beneath her drew her eyes to the old-fashioned bicycle Bella was wheeling round the side of the house. There was a basket set in front in which Bella had laid several jars of her famous conserve, and an armful of lupins, carnations and gladioli. Bella herself had donned the flowered straw hat she always wore for cycling, and as Olivia watched, she set her foot on the pedal and was off down the drive, wobbling as she levered herself on to the narrow seat. Watching her go, Olivia half wished she had agreed to go with her, but then she remembered Mrs Morrison and changed her mind.

With a sigh, she turned and went out of Richard’s bedroom again, and started down the stairs. The banister rail was smooth beneath her fingers, and below her in the hall, the wolfhound watched her approach with lazy eyes. Even as she wondered if she had the house to herself, Eliza, the parlourmaid, came out of the morning room and gave her a shy admiring stare. Eliza came from the village, and unlike many of her contemporaries was quite content to work at the big house. She was engaged to the gardener’s son, Peter, and Bella had confided that after they were married Richard intended to give them a cottage on the estate. Between them she and Bella managed to cope with the housework, and on special occasions, her mother also came to help out. Copley wasn’t overly large. It had four bedrooms and three bathrooms, as well as the staff flat Bella occupied, with its own bathroom and kitchen, and Richard provided every labour-saving device to make their task easier.

‘Miss Ponsonby’s gone to the village,’ Eliza said now, as the other girl reached the bottom of the stairs, and Olivia nodded.

‘Yes, I know. I saw her leave a few minutes ago, from Richard’s bedroom window.’ Eliza nodded, and in case she should wonder what she was doing in her stepbrother’s bedroom, Olivia added: ‘I was just looking around, renewing my acquaintance with the place, so to speak.’ She laughed. ‘It’s been a long time.’

‘Yes, it has, Miss Ross. Six months and more. Miss Ponsonby was ever so upset when you didn’t come home at Easter.’

‘Was she?’ Olivia had guessed that, but she didn’t say so. ‘Well, I’m here now, and it’s lucky that the weather is so perfect.’

Eliza agreed. ‘Is there anything you’re wanting? A cool drink, perhaps? Or some coffee?’

‘No, nothing, thanks.’ Olivia shook her head. Then, as Eliza turned away, she added: ‘I’ll be at the pool, if you want me.’

Leaving Jess to prowl in the shade, Olivia walked through the garden room and out to the patio. Richard had furnished the room which had been the previous owner’s breakfast room as a comfortable sun lounge, with sliding glass doors opening on to the tiled patio. On cooler days it was pleasant to use the garden room, combining all the benefits of a south-facing position with none of the draughts that sitting outside afforded.

The pool area was sheltered by a circling trellis hung with rambling roses and other climbing shrubs, and the pool itself lay green-based and inviting, within its mosaic of terrazzo tiles. Olivia went and dipped her hand into its chilly depths, and shivered at its coldness. But it would be refreshing later, after she had let the sun overheat her too-pale skin.

Dragging a striped lounger into the direct rays of the sun, Olivia rolled the legs of her jeans up to her knees and stretched her length. It was gloriously hot, and she closed her eyes against the glare, thinking how lucky she was. She could hear Thomas somewhere near at hand, using the motor mower, but apart from this there was no other sound except the steady humming of the insects that skimmed the surface of the pool

She drowsed, occasionally lifting a languid hand to brush away the more daring insects who came to disturb her slumbers, and thought lazily that very soon she would have to go indoors in search of some protection cream.

She wondered idly where Alex was this morning. She had not seen him since her arrival the previous afternoon, but that was not unusual. Although he stayed at the house, he seldom intruded on family meals, and when Richard wasn’t here he divided his time between Copley and London, handling all her stepbrother’s business affairs in his absence.

The distant drone of a car’s engine seemed a long way away, and she assumed someone was going up the lane to the farm that lay beyond the estate. Arnold Foster farmed at Low Cross, and his daughter, Shelley, was a friend of Olivia’s. She supposed she would have to contact her within the next couple of days and let her know she was home, if Mrs Morrison hadn’t already spread the news, but for the present she was content just to relax for a while.

Rolling on to her stomach, she untied the knot holding her shirt in place and wriggled out of it, dropping it carelessly on to the ground beside her. No one was likely to disturb her, least of all Alex, she mused wryly, and if anyone did come she could easily put it on again.

The plastic cushion of the lounger yielded as she subsided again, exposing her shapely back to the sun. There was something rather sensuous about lying there half naked, and she wondered what it would be like to sunbathe without any clothes at all. It was not a circumstance she was likely to experience, she decided, unless she married someone who had a private beach somewhere. She didn’t think she would like to expose herself to all and sundry. That didn’t sound at all inviting.

The drop of icy water that splashed on to the centre of her back almost brought her upright with a start. But in time she remembered her state of undress, and lay there frustratedly, wondering who would do such a thing. She twisted her head round and her eyes widened disbelievingly as they moved up over suede boots and long powerful legs, presently clad in fine grey worsted, lean hips where the lap of his jacket was pushed aside to allow one hand into his trousers’ pocket, a pale grey silk shirt and matching tie, pulled away from his unbuttoned collar for coolness, to the dark amused features of her stepbrother. He was holding a half empty glass of lager in one hand, and it was the condensation from this which he had deliberately allowed to drip on her spine.

‘Rich!’ she cried excitedly, and uncaring of propriety, she jack-knifed backwards and flung herself at him.

‘Hey!’ he muttered protestingly, keeping his balance with difficulty, as he endeavoured to retain the lager in his glass while preventing her from catapulting them both into the pool. ‘There’s no need to strangle me!’

‘I’m not trying to strangle you,’ she declared, drawing back from his involuntary embrace with reluctance to gaze eagerly up at him. ‘Oh, Rich, it’s so good to see you again!’

‘It’s good to see you too, kitten,’ he assured her dryly, but lazy green eyes, between the thickest lashes she had ever seen on a man, drooped questioningly to her uncovered bosoms. ‘Though I trust you don’t greet all our callers with the same permissiveness.’

Only then did Olivia become aware of her breasts pressed against the silky texture of his shirt, the muscles of his chest hard beneath. Surprisingly, she wasn’t embarrassed, she realised. Richard had seen her unclothed on frequent occasions when she was younger, and in any case, it was too late now for false modesty.

‘I was sunbathing,’ she explained lightly. ‘I’m not embarrassing you, am I? You’ve seen me before, without protest, haven’t you?’ she teased. ‘Alex thinks I have a nice figure.’

She winced in dismay when his hand suddenly closed about the nape of her neck, his thumb pressing her chin up so that she was forced to face him. ‘Bishop hasn’t seen you like this, has he?’ he demanded, and she could tell from his expression that he was furiously angry.

His change of mood was so unexpected that she could only stare at him for several seconds, fighting back the tears of pain his cruel grasp was bringing to her eyes. Then, with a gulping sob, she wrenched herself away from him, snatching up her shirt and pulling it over her shoulders.

‘No,’ she retorted, and she was annoyed to find her voice was tremulous. ‘Of course he hasn’t. What do you take me for?’

There was a moment’s silence, and then, as if having regained control of himself, Richard caught her arm and swung her round to face him as she struggled to tie the knot again. Brushing her shaking hands aside, he completed the operation, before taking a deep breath and saying: ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.’

Olivia, whose gaze had been glued to her toes while he tied the ends of her shirt beneath her breasts, lifted her eyes reluctantly. She felt indignant that he should arrive home twenty-four hours after she had without a word of apology, and then get so angry just because she had spoken facetiously. It was she who should be angry with him, she thought, but looking up into his lean intelligent face, she knew she couldn’t be. She had so looked forward to seeing him, and now he was here, and already they were on the verge of a fight.

‘Oh, Rich!’ she mumbled helplessly, stretching out her fingers and twining one inside a buttonhole of his jacket, and he bent and deposited his glass on the table nearby.

‘Come on,’ he said dryly, ‘let’s kiss and make up!’ and with a rueful smile she lifted her face to his.

His mouth came down on hers, his hands holding her shoulders, not cruelly now, but warmly, familiarly, the long fingers probing inside the sleeveless shirt to stroke the sun-warmed skin. He had kissed her before, many times, he liked to kiss her, she thought, and she liked him to be happy. But this time it was different, this time her lips parted in remembrance of Jules’s kiss, and Richard responded with an urgency that was alien to her. He kissed her deeply, lingeringly, and while her senses were spinning her mind was rejecting what her instincts told her. This was her stepbrother, her guardian; the man she had always regarded as the mentor in her life, and her eyes had opened, seeking wildly for some way to escape him, when she saw Alex Bishop watching them from the sliding doors of the garden room.

With a gulp she tore her mouth from Richard’s, taking a step backwards and saying jerkily: ‘He—hello, Alex.’

Richard seemed unperturbed, however. With a wry glance in her direction, he turned to Alex Bishop, loosening his tie as he asked: ‘Did you make the call?’

‘Yes.’ Alex, his face slightly embarrassed, stepped on to the patio. ‘I’m sorry if I interrupted anything …’

‘You’re not interrupting anything,’ declared Richard easily, smiling at Olivia, and she felt a ridiculous sense of relief. This was the Richard she knew and loved, and she was glad she had not embarrassed them both by treating his kiss as anything more than a demonstration of his delight in seeing her again. It was nine months, after all, since he had accompanied her to Paris and seen her safely installed at St Helena’s, and that was the longest parting they had had. It was natural that he should feel relieved to have her home again, safe and sound.

Listening to him giving Alex his orders, she relaxed completely, resuming her position on the sun lounger, and feeling an intense sense of contentment sweeping over her. Richard always gave her this feeling of warmth and security, and she lifted her shoulders in a little gesture of happiness. She wondered how long he was staying, and then dismissed the thought. She didn’t want to have to put a limit on their time together, and she looked up at him surreptitiously, thinking with detachment what an attractive man he was. Shelley Foster thought so, she knew that, the girl had told her so many times, but Richard wouldn’t marry her. Olivia guessed when he did marry it would be to someone like himself, rich and successful, the kind of woman who could run his home and be his hostess, and talk intelligently to the foreign guests he often brought to stay at Copley.

Curiously enough, the idea of Richard getting married didn’t particularly appeal to her. She guessed it was partly a selfish desire to continue to regard Copley as her home, which she would feel less able to do with another mistress there, but there was more to it than that. A wife would demand more of his attention than Olivia wanted to give, and she could never share her anxieties with him knowing he might go and confide them to his wife!

She sighed, and as she did so she lifted her fingers to her lips, still tingling from the pressure of his. Had it been her fault that he had kissed her that way? she wondered. Was that how he kissed the women he went out with? Had her experience with Jules affected her response? Certainly, until the Frenchman had taken her in his arms and taught her the more passionate aspects of kissing, she had been singularly naïve. But Jules had not aroused that feeling of panic inside her, he had not stroked her lips with his—an intimacy which even now brought a disturbing sensation that was half pain, half pleasure, to the pit of her stomach.

‘So—how was St Helena’s?’

Richard had rescued his glass and was speaking to her again, and glancing round she realised Alex had disappeared once more. Endeavouring to push her discomfiting speculations aside, she forced a smile to her lips and replied: ‘It was interesting. The girls were very friendly—particularly Michelle. I wrote you about her.’

‘Oh, yes,’ Richard nodded, raising his glass to his lips and draining its contents before continuing: ‘The girl whose family you stayed with at Easter. Tours, wasn’t it?’

‘That’s right,’ Olivia nodded. ‘How about you? Did you have a good time in Athens?’

Richard grinned. ‘It was—interesting,’ he teased, mocking her reply to his question. ‘The girls were very friendly.’ Then, as she coloured, he added: ‘Seriously though, I was sorry to be away when you arrived home, kitten. It wasn’t intentional, believe me. But you know how it is.’ He shrugged out of his jacket and unbuttoned his shirt, the dark tan of his skin revealing that he didn’t spend all his time in the boardroom. ‘Have you been in the pool yet? It looks as if Thomas has made a good job of cleaning it out.’

Olivia looked towards the pale green water, shading her eyes against the glare. ‘No, I haven’t,’ she admitted. ‘I didn’t bring my bikini downstairs, and I was too lazy to go and get it.’

Richard laughed. ‘Well, you’d better get it. Unless you want me to tip you in fully clothed.’

She looked up at him eagerly, her anxieties dispersing once more. ‘Are you going to swim?’

‘Try and stop me,’ he agreed, walking towards the house, slinging his jacket over his shoulder. ‘I’ll go and get out of these clothes. See you in a few minutes.’

Olivia waited only long enough to ensure he would have reached his bedroom, before following him up the stairs. She had heard Jess giving little wuffs of pleasure, and guessed the wolfhound had accompanied him. She was intensely loyal, and Richard had had her for a great number of years, which accounted for her lack of energy on days like this, Olivia supposed dryly.

In her room, she quickly found the brown bikini she had bought in Paris. Edged with gold beading and fringed below the bra, it accentuated the honey-gold of her skin, and she was pleased with the faintly reddish glow she found on her arms and legs. She would soon tan in this weather, she thought, but never as strongly as Richard. His skin was much darker than hers, matching the ebony dullness of his hair.

A towelling smock provided an adequate cover for the walk from bedroom to pool, but as she passed Richard’s room he emerged wearing only the frayed denim shorts he used to swim in. He raised mocking eyebrows at her modest appearance, and she dug him in the ribs playfully, before darting away down the stairs with him chasing her. Even Jess joined in the excitement, barking more noisily than before, and following them out to the patio.

Olivia tore round the pool, half afraid Richard would throw her in, smock and all, but he halted at the opposite side, allowing her to stand panting, facing him across the tinted water.

‘I can wait,’ he averred threateningly, and she gurgled with laughter as she pulled off the smock to expose her shapely body.

If, after what had occurred earlier, she had expected Richard to gaze at her, entranced, she was very much mistaken. Before she had dropped her smock on to the ground, he had dived cleanly into the water, the spreading ripples of his entry disturbing the calm water. He emerged just below where she was standing, his hand reaching for her ankle, and she skipped away from him just in time.

‘Come on,’ he said, treading water, ‘what’re you afraid of? Getting wet?

Olivia stepped to the rim and dipped her toe tentatively. ‘It’s freezing,’ she protested, hanging back, and again he swam to just beneath her.

‘Give me your hand,’ he suggested, stretching out his towards her, but she knew better than to trust him.

‘Go away and I’ll get in,’ she promised, and with a shrug, he did a backward somersault and swam obediently across the pool.

He came up, pushing back his hair from his eyes, and she watched him warily. When he grinned, the lines that bracketed his mouth were erased, and she thought how good it was to be seeing his harsh features again. He was not handsome, she conceded, not like Jules, who was the idol of hundreds of French teenagers, but there was something about his heavy-lidded eyes and strong cheekbones, his nose which had been broken once in an amateur boxing tournament, that she could see now was equally attractive. Certainly, she knew, there had been women in his life, and beautiful women at that, women sometimes whose husbands had been unaware of their wives’ penchant for the sexy chairman of the Jenner corporation. But until now, Olivia had not really assessed him in that way, and it was disconcerting to realise that she did not like the sensation. He was her stepbrother, not someone she was attracted to, and she wished she could forget the way he had kissed her and resume their old relationship.

‘What are you thinking about?’ he demanded now, growing impatient with the delay, and hurriedly she sat down on the side of the pool and dipped her legs into the water. She was hardly thinking about what she was doing, and a gulp of dismay escaped her as he swam strongly back to her and caught her ankles, jerking her into the water.

She floundered and came up choking, spitting her words at him. ‘You—you rotten pig!’ she gasped, threshing about wildly. ‘Oh, it’s icy. I’m chilled to the bone!’

‘Then get moving,’ he advised evenly, from the middle of the pool. ‘Come on—I’ll race you from end to end. You can swim to the side, and I’ll stay here so that you’ve got half a length start on me.’

‘Big deal!’ she muttered sulkily, twisting her hair into a coil at her nape. ‘I suppose you think you’ll win.’

He laughed. ‘Yes,’ he agreed, and her pursed lips accepted the challenge.

In the event, she beat him, but not convincingly. She suspected he had slowed his pace to suit her rather laborious crawl, and it was a hollow victory. Nevertheless, it did warm her up, and they swam and played in the water for another half hour before Richard said he had had enough.

Afterwards they lay on adjacent loungers, and Olivia talked more fully about her work at the Academy. Her aptitude for languages pleased him, and he spent some time speaking to her in both French and German, assessing her ability in both. She was at ease with him again, and half tempted to tell him about Jules, and her decision to get a job, but she was loath to disrupt the harmony of the moment.

The morning was soon over, and it seemed no time before Bella appeared to announce that lunch was ready when they were. Olivia’s flesh was feeling quite prickly by that time, the sun having dried the pool water on her, and without lotion to soothe it, her skin was burning. While Richard got to his feet to greet his old nursemaid, Olivia rescued her smock, and was quite glad of the protection it afforded.

Lunch was a cold meal, and while Richard went to change, Olivia took a quick shower before applying some cream to her overheated arms and legs. She came down to the dining room feeling rather like a tomato oiled ready for frying, and resented the amused stare Richard subjected her to. He was annoyingly cool, black jeans clinging to his lean hips, a black sweat shirt accentuating his tan.

‘You’ve overdone it,’ he remarked impatiently, surveying the rosy picture she made with critical eyes. ‘Why on earth didn’t you ask me to rub some cream into your arms? You’re going to find it pretty painful at bedtime.’

‘Thank you, Dr Jenner!’ Olivia retorted sarcastically, ‘I am aware of the discomfort, you know. But as I’m the one who is suffering, I see no reason for you to get upset.’

‘Now, Olivia …’ Bella was already seated at the table beside an enormous platter of salad and dressing, colour-fully adorned with red and green peppers. Bella usually ate with the family, except when there were guests, and Alex Bishop was standing waiting for Olivia to sit down, a look of sympathy on his face. ‘Richard’s only concerned about you, you know. Now, do sit down so that the men can join us.’

The dining room was cool. Bella had slatted the blinds, and as it was at the side of the house, the sun had not yet entered the room with any strength. Pale green walls added to the illusion of coolness, and the long polished table was very attractive with its slatted cane place mats, and wooden-handled knives and forks.

There was melon to begin with, juicy-sweet and sprinkled with ginger, and then Bella’s special salad, together with a cold meat pie, spiced with herbs and decorated with parsley. There were crisps, and potato sticks, and a variety of vegetables served in different sauces, with a delicious fruit salad to finish. They had wine with the meal, and for the first time Olivia was able to appreciate it, thanks to the course she had taken in wine appreciation during her stay at St Helena’s. It was a white wine, light and only slightly sweetened, but heady after the morning in the sun.

‘Did you give Mr Raynor his jam?’ Olivia asked, as she forked melon into her mouth, and Bella turned her attention from asking Richard what flight he had taken and what time he had got back to say:

‘Yes, and delighted he was with it.’ She tilted her head reprovingly. ‘Mrs Morrison asked how you were, and wondered why you hadn’t gone with me, but I explained that you were too tired after your journey.’

Richard’s eyes twinkled as Olivia attacked her melon with more aggression than enthusiasm. ‘I wasn’t tired,’ she retorted, feeling herself assailed on all sides. ‘I just didn’t feel like answering the catechism today.’

‘Olivia!’ Bella was shocked. ‘That—that’s blasphemy!’

Olivia hunched her shoulders. ‘No, it’s not. You know what I mean. She asks too many questions.’

‘She’s interested in you, that’s all,’ protested Bella, glancing to Richard for support, but it was Alex who chose to speak next.

‘I think Olivia has a point, Miss Ponsonby,’ he declared, earning himself a grateful look. ‘The vicar’s wife is inclined to gossip——’

‘What do you know about it?’ Bella was not in the mood to mince her words. ‘I’ve known Amy Morrison for eight years, and I’ve never had cause to complain about her—natural interest in the affairs of the village.’

Richard poured himself more wine. ‘I gather you invited Olivia to join you, Bella,’ he observed, studying the contents of his glass with a critical eye, and she hastened to explain that she had ridden into the village to visit Mr Raynor.

‘Naturally, I called at the vicarage with some flowers for the church,’ she added, casting another injured look in the girl’s direction. ‘Olivia didn’t want to accompany me, and I understood she was tired after her journey. I didn’t know she was too ashamed to admit what an ungrateful girl she is!’

Olivia gasped, and even Alex looked taken aback at this statement. But it was Richard who asked her to explain herself, the mildness of his tone not fooling Olivia for a minute. He was furiously angry, and she could have slapped Bella for deliberately landing her in this situation.

However, now Bella chose to be obtuse, perhaps regretting the impulse to repay Olivia for her impertinence, and when Richard asked what she meant by ingratitude, she tried to evade the question.

‘After all I’ve done for her!’ she declared, urging Alex to try some of the potato salad, but Richard wasn’t satisfied with that.

‘You said—Olivia might be too ashamed to admit what an ungrateful girl she was,’ he reminded her tautly. ‘I want to know exactly what she’s done to warrant such a remark.’

‘Oh, Rich …’ It was Olivia who spoke now, still hoping to avoid the inevitable with an alternative explanation. ‘You know what Bella’s like. She always exaggerates. I may have said something to hurt her, I don’t know. Whatever it was, it’s not important, so eat your lunch.’

She had never noticed how cold green eyes could become, with the glacier quality of packed ice. They stared into hers unblinkingly, and unwillingly she felt the betraying colour flooding her cheeks. Thank goodness for sunburn, she thought weakly, but it was a brief respite. Her interpretation of Bella’s remark was not accepted, and his voice was as icy as his eyes, as he said:

‘You might as well tell me, Olivia, because I mean to know. In what way have you convinced Bella that you’re ungrateful?’

‘Because I want to get a job!’ she declared with a rush, and then sat back, aghast, at the realisation that she had actually told him.

There was a pregnant silence, like the one that had followed his anger with her that morning, and then, with immense control, he asked: ‘What kind of a job?’

Olivia expelled her breath on a shaky sigh. ‘I—I’m not sure. It depends what’s available. I—I’m good at languages. I thought I might be able to use them in some capacity.’

Richard nodded slowly, thoughtfully, almost as if he was considering her suggestion on its merits. Then he looked at her again, and although his eyes were still emotionless, the glittering coldness had gone.

‘Good,’ he said, and she almost sank through her chair in amazement, but her relief was also shortlived. ‘You can work for me. I need a social secretary, someone who can play hostess when I have guests, and speak their own language. It was a suggestion I was going to make, not immediately perhaps, but eventually, and now you’ve taken the decision out of my hands——’

‘No!’ Olivia stared at him across the table, her eyes wide and indignant. ‘No, Richard! I—I don’t want to work for you. I want to be independent. I want a job that I’ve managed to get on my own merits, not a position created by you to keep me occupied.’

Richard’s fingers smoothed the stem of his wine glass. Their caress was almost sensuous, and Olivia’s eyes were drawn to their sensitivity and their strength. They could snap the stem with only the lightest of pressures, and intuitively she knew he could have snapped her neck as easily.

‘This is not a contrived solution, Olivia,’ he stated at last, and she knew that he was deliberately slowing his words to keep her in suspense. ‘It was my intention all along that you should become my hostess, and mistress of Copley. Bella knows as well as I do that I intend you should learn the management of the estate from every angle, so that when she retires in a couple of years you’ll be able to take over.’

‘No——’

‘Yes.’ He was adamant. ‘You don’t imagine I sent you to St Helena’s for the good of your health, do you?’ His lips thinned. ‘The girls who attend academies like St Helena’s do so to learn the art of entertaining, of being a good hostess. They learn about food and wine, and how to handle people—languages, too, if they have an aptitude.’

‘Richard——’ Olivia was conscious of Alex’s eyes upon them, as well as Bella’s, and his embarrassment was almost as great as hers.

But Richard was undeterred. ‘Listen to me, Olivia,’ he said, ‘because I only intend to say this once; you owe it to me to stay here. For the past fifteen years I’ve been grooming you to this position. I didn’t spend all that money on expensive boarding schools and an even more expensive finishing school to have you go and waste it all in some pitiful little bid for independence! You belong to Copley, Olivia, and don’t you forget it. And to me!’




CHAPTER THREE (#ub4682be8-2d1c-57e4-b3ad-f2126f740109)


OLIVIA spent the rest of the afternoon in her room. In spite of the fact that it was a glorious day, and everyone else was sitting outside, either in the sun or out of it, Olivia remained in her room, hot and frustrated, and bitterly resentful.

After Richard’s cold statement at the table, she had left the room without even finishing her lunch. She wasn’t hungry, indeed she felt she never wanted to eat another morsel that Richard had paid to put on her plate. He had let her go, even though she knew he could easily have shamed her into staying, and she had climbed the stairs with her head held high, hiding the wounds he had inflicted.

But in her room the floodgates had opened, and tears of pain and humiliation had soaked the sprigged quilt on her bed. It was all so unreal, so unexpected, and she would never have believed Richard could speak to her that way. She had suspected he might not approve of her wanting to take a job, but not for those reasons, never for those reasons, and the idea that he had been educating her for his own ends left her feeling raw and abused. Lying on her back, impervious to the pain of the burned flesh of her shoulders, she had gone over everything he had said in minute detail. Yet still she found it difficult to accept that the loving stepbrother she had adored had in fact had only his own aims in view. She remembered with painful intensity the sports days he had attended when she was at boarding school in Sussex, the admiration he had inspired among her school friends, and her simple delight in knowing that she was the reason he was there. She had not realised he was only checking on his investment, she thought bitterly, rolling on to her stomach. Realising that his apparent affection for her stemmed from the satisfaction he felt that she was fulfilling all his hopes for her filled her with disgust, and she wished she could strip every shed of clothing from her back and walk out of his house this very minute.

Of course, she thought unhappily, she should have guessed what manner of man he was. Anyone who could buy out a company and then write off their securities without a flicker of compunction had to have a different set of values from her own. She had known he was ruthless in business. She had seen him cut some arrogant competitor down to size, or deliver some succinct response to a newsman’s criticism that made the man a laughing stock among his colleagues, but she had never dreamed he might turn that savage blade on her. She was immune, she was his stepsister, the only person in the world he really loved.

How foolish she had been! Richard didn’t have it in him to love anyone, and she was crazy if she imagined this was all some badly-tasting joke that would go away if she forgot about it. But what could she do?

She was not a prisoner at Copley, and she doubted even Richard would stop her if she determined to walk out, but where could she go? If she denounced Richard and his possessions, she was penniless. Her father hadn’t even left her mother enough to live on, that was one of the reasons why she had married Matthew Jenner so soon after her husband’s death, and her bank balance, such as it was, had all been contributed by Richard. It was useless saying she had earned her keep. She hadn’t. Her life had been incredibly easy, and the only reason she knew how to boil an egg and make a bed was because she had enjoyed helping Bella on occasion. But that was an amusement, nothing more. She had done nothing on a regular basis, and while Richard was right when he said that St Helena’s had taught her how to entertain, it had not encompassed the more menial arts of actually preparing a meal herself.

No, whichever way she looked at it, Richard had a point, a heartless point it was true, but a point nevertheless. She did owe him something, but how much was his pound of flesh?

Leaving her bed, she padded restlessly to the windows staring out moodily on to the smooth grass of the soft court. She had hoped to challenge Richard to a game of tennis this afternoon, and afterwards they could have swum again, and had afternoon tea beside the pool. It was hardly possible to believe that it was only a matter of four or five hours since his arrival. It was even difficult to recall her excitement at seeing him again, and the easy camaraderie they had shared. All she could remember were those flint-like green eyes, gazing into hers and chilling her with their coldness. He had seemed like a stranger, a terrifying stranger, and she had run from him like the frightened child she was.

A knock at her door made her stiffen automatically, and her hand went to the sill for added support as she called: ‘Who is it?’

‘Me!’

Bella’s voice was suddenly amazingly reassuring, and with a little gulp, she shouted: ‘Come in.’

Bella came into the room cautiously, closing the door behind her, her eyes going at once to Olivia’s puffy eyes. Her own gentle features softened in compassion, and it was all Olivia could do to prevent herself from darting into Bella’s arms, as she had done so many times in the past when things had got too much for her. But now she steeled herself to remain where she was, guessing that Bella had to have a hand in this, and realising she had to be self-sufficient from now on.

‘Oh, my dear …’ Bella was clearly distressed, as she advanced across the room, but something about Olivia’s stiffly held figure warned her not to try to comfort her. ‘Won’t you come downstairs and have some tea?’

‘I’m not hungry,’ replied Olivia, moving away from the windows, putting the width of the bed between them. ‘Where’s Richard?’

Bella sighed, halting and folding her hands in front of her. ‘He’s downstairs,’ she admitted reluctantly. ‘He and Alex are working in the summerhouse.’ She paused. ‘Won’t you come and have a cup of tea, at least?’

‘I don’t want anything.’ Olivia was abrupt. ‘Why have you come up here? Did he send you?’

‘Richard?’ Bella shook her head. ‘Of course not.’ She made a helpless gesture. ‘Olivia, I wish you wouldn’t take this all so seriously——’

‘Seriously!’ Olivia stared at her. ‘Seriously? How else am I supposed to take it?’

‘You know Richard,’ exclaimed Bella persuasively. ‘You know how angry he gets sometimes. When he’s angry he often says things he doesn’t mean.’

‘Oh, yes?’ Olivia was unconvinced, an uncontrollable bubble of hysteria swelling inside her. ‘What didn’t he mean then? That he didn’t really spend his money on me to turn me into something he wanted? Or that I don’t really owe him anything?’

‘Olivia, listen …’

‘No, you listen: I loved Richard, I really loved him. And I thought he loved me——’

‘He does!’

‘No!’ Olivia shook her head. ‘He doesn’t love anybody but himself. And that—that grotesque corporation of his! That’s all he really cares about. Not love, or compassion, or loyalty—or people!’

‘You’re wrong.’ Bella tried to reason with her, but when she made a move to come round the bed towards her, Olivia stepped back towards the bathroom. ‘My dear, stop being so emotional. You know it need never have come to this. You love Copley, you know you do, and what more natural but that you should become Richard’s—hostess? You like meeting people, you like entertaining. You’ve said yourself that you enjoy composing menus——’

‘But not only that!’ cried Olivia shrilly. ‘Not only sitting around here, waiting for Richard to appear with some foreign guest or other, choosing menus, arranging flowers, making myself attractive for some fat old European, whose wife flaps her skinny breasts at Richard, while I keep her husband entertained!’

‘Olivia!’

‘Well, it’s true.’ Olivia was unrepentant. ‘Do you think I don’t know what goes on? Do you think I don’t know why Kuriakis is always inviting him aboard his yacht? It’s not Aristotle who wants to see him, it’s Madame Kuriakis! I saw the way she was looking at him the last time they were here. I felt sick, physically sick, and if that’s what Richard expects me to——’

‘Olivia, be quiet!’ Bella was impatient now. ‘I will not listen to any more of this! It seems to me that all you’ve developed in France is your imagination, and I’m ashamed to hear a child I’ve looked after and cared for using such language!’ She turned towards the door, and when her hand closed on the handle, she looked back at her. ‘Perhaps you’d better stay in your room,’ she declared coldly. ‘I’m sure you’ll enjoy feeling sorry for yourself much more here, without any distractions.’

Contrarily, as soon as the door had closed behind her, Olivia wished she had detained her. Of all the people she knew, Bella was the one she could always turn to, the person who was always there when she needed her. Even yesterday, returning from Paris to find Richard away, she had known the old nursemaid would not have deserted her, and it was painful to think that she was creating the rift between them. But Bella was intensely loyal, not only to her, but to Richard, who had after all claimed her affections first. In her eyes he could do no wrong, and in this instance she was no ally. Nevertheless, she was the nearest thing to a mother Olivia had known during the last fifteen years, and as such she deserved her respect. If only she would try and understand how Olivia was feeling, instead of looking blithely ahead, uncaring of the pitfalls along the way.

Catching sight of herself in the mirror of her vanity unit, Olivia was appalled at her reflection. Her arms, and the length of leg visible beneath the hem of her denim skirt, blazed with unseemly colour, while her face, unnaturally pale and hollow-cheeked, showed puffy red patches around her eyes and nose. Her hair, rumpled from her sojourn on the bed, stuck out in tufts all over her head, dampened by her sweating scalp, and her hunched shoulders and air of despondency added to her general attitude of dejection. If Jules could see me now, she thought in horror, but at the recollection of the Frenchman misery swamped her anew. She had planned to see Jules in London. Working in the capital, they would have had plenty of occasions to be together. He had told her he hoped to do some of his recording work in England, and she had looked forward excitedly to informing him of her new independence. How forlorn those hopes now seemed, enmeshed as she was in the chains of obligation. How unlikely it would be that Richard would even countenance her friendship with a man like Jules, a man who might threaten his unwilling possession.

With a feeling of despair almost overpowering her, she peeled off her sticky clothes and went into the bathroom. Perhaps if she had a shower, she thought, washed her hair and changed into something more flattering, she would feel better. At least she would be able to face herself without actual disgust at her appearance, and once Richard and Alex had gone to change for dinner, she would walk in the garden. The freshness of the evening air sounded very appealing, and her mind would be clearer if it was cooler.

She washed her hair first, and then showered the heat of the day from her body. Some of the redness subsided beneath the cooling spray, and by the time she emerged, she was feeling human again. Covering her limbs with a cotton caftan, she plugged in her hairdryer and perched on the end of the bed, threading her fingers through her hair to help it to dry. Already the shadows were lengthening on the tennis court, the tall cypresses that hid the stable yard casting their shade in elongated fingers. It was going to be another pleasant evening, and Olivia couldn’t help remembering other evenings when Richard had taken her down to the river, and they had sailed the small dinghy he used to own. Nowadays he kept a yacht, permanently moored on the Thames, and he seldom had time for sailing.

Pushing the disruptive thoughts of her stepbrother aside, she thought instead of Jules, and wondered when he would get in touch with her. He had her address, and her telephone number, she recalled with some dismay, imagining Richard’s reactions if some strange man rang and asked to speak to her. Still, she defended herself, determining not to sink back into melancholy, Richard was not her keeper, and if she chose to have friends of her own, he couldn’t stop her.

‘Olivia!’

Richard’s voice accompanying a sharp rap at her door almost scared her half to death, indulging as she had been in recollections of Jules’s farewell at the airport. It was almost as if her subconscious dread of her stepbrother’s censure had summoned him out of the air, and she was unprepared when the door opened to admit him. Not for him the polite delay while he waited for her response, she thought angrily. She could have been stark naked, and he would still have walked in, probably showing no more surprise than he was showing now.

Although her impulse was to get up from the bed, she forced herself to remain where she was, confronting him defensively, summoning all her reserves of composure. She said nothing, allowing him to make the first overtures, and he closed the door behind him and leaned back against it.

‘Hi,’ he said at last, and it was so unexpected, she could only stare at him. ‘Bella said you didn’t want any tea. You’re not sick, are you?’

Olivia’s lips trembled, and she pressed them together to hide the small betrayal. ‘I wasn’t hungry,’ she got out shortly, and he straightened away from the door, his eyes surveying her thoughtfully.

‘You’ve been crying,’ he stated, approaching her with some deliberation. He came round the bed towards her corner, and although her eyes measured the distance to the safety of the bathroom, she knew she would never make it. Besides, as Bella had said, she knew the uncertainty of his temper, and she wouldn’t put it past him to smash the lock if she tried to turn it against him.

He halted in front of her, hands pushed into the hip pockets of his pants, feet slightly apart on the curly tumble-twist of her carpet. He was so sure of himself, she thought resentfully, darting a look up at him, and then continued drying her hair as if she was supremely indifferent to his presence.

Richard watched her for a few more minutes, minutes when Olivia ran the whole gamut of her emotions, then he bent and disconnected her dryer, and the silence that followed was almost deafening.

‘I said—you’ve been crying,’ he repeated, stretching out a hand and stroking her cheekbone with a lazy finger. ‘I’m sorry. Will you forgive me?’

Olivia almost gasped, but she flinched away from his touch with a revulsion that was evident in every line of her slim body. He was apologising! After the terrible afternoon she had spent, closeted in the heat of her bedroom, he thought he could just come and apologise and that would be the end of it. And what was he apologising for? Not what he had said, that much she was sure, and anything else was pure diplomacy.

‘I’m trying to dry my hair,’ she managed to say now, fidgeting with the temperature control. ‘If—if that’s all you have to say, will you plug it in again before you leave. I’d like to get my hair dry before dinner.’

It was tantamount to throwing down the gauntlet, she knew, but for some reason Richard chose not to pick it up. Instead, he bent and reconnected the dryer, plucking it out of her hand before she could stop him, and continuing the drying himself.

She wanted to protest, to snatch the appliance out of his hand, and order him out of her room. But his movements were sure and rhythmical, his fingers massaging her scalp, releasing all the tension in her neck. She found herself yielding to his touch, moving with him, and when he came behind her to lift the length of hair from her nape, she allowed herself to rest against his thighs, as if they were there for just that purpose.

‘Is that good?’ he asked, bending his head so she could hear him, and she nodded drowsily. She was bemused by the sensations he was arousing, so much so that when he switched off the dryer again she was loath to dispel the mood he had created.

‘It’s dry,’ he said, his voice breaking in on her reverie, and immediately she straightened away from him half ashamed of her weakness. But when he came round to face her, his expression was warm and gentle, and she forced herself to offer reluctant thanks.

‘It was a pleasure,’ he assured her firmly, a wry smile tugging at the corners of his lips, and she wondered what he was thinking. ‘Now, if you get dressed, I’ll take you out for dinner. As a kind of compensation-cum-homecoming outing, designed to heal the breach between us.’





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