by Anne Mather
‘But he’s not,’ Alex interrupted her firmly. ‘It’s better not to probe too deeply into old wounds, Mrs Winters. Who knows what would have happened if—if my father had still been alive?’
The housekeeper shook her head. ‘He never forgave you, you know.’
‘I know that.’
‘I think he wanted to.’
‘Do you?’ Alex looked wry. ‘You’re very tactful, Mrs Winters.’
She sighed, gazing up at him with hungry eyes, almost as if she was afraid he might suddenly disappear again without notice. ‘And you’re much too thin,’ she exclaimed, through trembling lips. ‘Where on earth have you been all these years? What have you been doing? If only you’d written!’
Alex heaved a deep breath. ‘Later, Mrs Winters,’ he assured her gently. ‘Right now, I could surely do with a bath and a change of clothes.’
‘Of course.’ Mrs Winters controlled herself and turned to Olivia now. ‘With your permission, Mrs Gantry, I’ll put Master Alex in his old room. It’s the one overlooking the stables, and I think he’d like—’
‘I know which room he used to occupy,’ Olivia interposed briefly, her eyes the only indication of her angry indignation, and Mrs Winters, too bemused by Alex’s reappearance to notice, smiled beneficently.
‘Of course you do,’ she beamed. Then she remembered the food cooling on its tray, and put an anxious hand to her throat. ‘Would you like me to tell Cook you’ll have a bit of dinner with Master Alex, instead of bothering with your omelette. I’m sure, now that you’ve got company—’
‘The omelette is just fine,’ replied Olivia crisply. ‘I suggest you inform Cook of our unexpected guest’s arrival, and she can prepare him a meal while he takes his bath. I—I shall be going straight to bed. I am rather—tired, after all.’
Mrs Winters’ eyes widened. ‘Oh, but—’ She cast a troubled look in Alex’s direction, and he, interpreting her anxiety, made an irritatingly complacent gesture.
‘Don’t worry,’ he told her cheerfully. ‘Olivia and I will have plenty of time to talk tomorrow. It’s natural that she’s feeling a little tired. Let’s face it, it’s been a long day, hasn’t it, Liv?’
Olivia moved her head from side to side in an oddly confused way. Perhaps she was tired. Perhaps she was dreaming all this. Perhaps none of it was really happening! But she knew that she wasn’t, and it was; and she was blankly aware of being outmanoeuvred at every turn.
Mrs Winters dragged her eyes away from Alex sufficiently long enough to give Olivia an encouraging smile. ‘Then I’ll go and attend to the arrangements,’ she said, in the tone that falls midway between a statement and a question. And at Olivia’s indifferent consent, she added: ‘What about your luggage, Master Alex? Is it being sent on or what?’
‘It’s outside, actually. In the car I hired,’ he declared casually, producing the keys.
‘Then would you like me to get Murdoch—’
‘Oh, no, that won’t be necessary.’ Alex pocketed the keys again. ‘I’ll get them myself.’ He glanced at Olivia for a moment, and then went on: ‘But perhaps you could arrange with the hire company to have the car collected tomorrow. I suppose while I’m here, you could lend me a car, couldn’t you, Olivia?’
Olivia made another gesture which could have been acquiescence, and Mrs Winters’s smile reappeared. ‘Very well, then, I’ll leave you for the moment.’ She shook her head. ‘Wait till Murdoch hears about this! He’ll never believe it.’
‘Oh, I’m sure he will,’ Alex remarked in a low tone, as the housekeeper closed the door again behind her, and Olivia’s resentment erupted into blazing anger.
‘How dare you?’ she demanded. ‘How dare you? I did not insist that you stayed here, and as for lending you a car—’
‘Yes?’ His eyes were narrowed and wary.
‘Oh—it’s ludicrous!’ Olivia thrust her hands forward, as if to ward off a physical presence. ‘Whatever my feelings, you’ve inveigled your way in here—which reminds me: how did you get in? The gates are electrically operated, and we have a very efficient security system.’
‘You forget, I used to live here,’ Alex retorted blandly. ‘And before you tell me the guard on the gate couldn’t possibly remember me, I know. But it’s amazing what the production of a passport will do, particularly when I explained how sorry I was not to have got here sooner. A son’s grief still means something, Liv, even to hard-bitten security guards.’
Olivia pursed her lips. ‘I don’t believe you’re sorry at all. I think you timed your arrival perfectly!’
‘Oh, Mother! How can you say that?’
His words mocked hers, and Olivia felt a helpless sense of impotence. Almost without volition, she was being backed further and further into a corner, and although she didn’t want to fight him, he was making it impossible for her not to do so. What did he want? Why had he come here? And how long would he stay, if she did not make a stand?
With another bemused shake of her head, she moved then, intent on reaching the door and the comparative privacy of the hall beyond. But he moved too, stepping deliberately into her path, and she looked up at him angrily, incensed by his arrogance.
‘Do you mind?’ she exclaimed, her breathing quickening in concert with her emotions. ‘I think we’ve said enough for one day, don’t you? You’re here—and thanks to Mrs Winters, you’ve acquired a certain respectability. But don’t expect me to applaud your methods, because I won’t. I don’t know what your intentions are, but let me remind you, I am the mistress here, and don’t you forget it!’
‘Oh, I don’t.’ But he was mocking her again, his thin lips curling lazily as he surveyed her obvious frustration. ‘You’re the one who seems in danger of forgetting it. I mean, is this any way to treat a long-lost son?’
Olivia clenched her fists. ‘Will you stop that!’
‘And if I don’t?’
‘You’re completely despicable, aren’t you? I’m beginning to understand why Henry threw you out. I—’
‘Correction, Henry did not throw me out,’ Alex cut in harshly. ‘I—walked out. Of my own free will.’ He looked down at her contemptuously. ‘He practically begged me to stay, do you know that?’
‘Then you can’t blame him, can you?’ she exclaimed, seizing the opportunity he had given her, but he only shook his head.
‘I don’t,’ he retorted coldly. ‘But that doesn’t stop me despising him, and what he did. I’m afraid your husband was no saint, Mrs Gantry.’ He lifted a finger and before she could stop him, had brushed a sooty tendril from her cheek. ‘Now ain’t that a shame!’
Olivia flinched away from him, fumbling at the thread of hair with unsteady fingers, thrusting it back behind her ear, as if by doing so she would remove the unwanted touch of his skin. ‘Don’t do that!’ she choked. ‘Don’t touch me! And please, get out of my way, before I—’
‘Yes? Before you what? Throw a tantrum? Scream?’ He rucked up his jersey to tuck his thumbs into the low belt of his jeans. ‘Dear me, I wonder what Mrs Winters would have to say about that? A nice piece of gossip to end the day with!’
Olivia took a deep breath. ‘Why are you doing this?’ she exclaimed tremulously. ‘What do you want? I’ve said you can stay. Isn’t that enough?’
He shrugged. ‘Maybe I’m thinking that as we’re what you might call—kissing kin, we should exchange something more than just goodnights.’
Olivia gasped. ‘You must be crazy!’
‘Why?’
He was a disturbing tormentor standing there, and in the warmth of the room, Olivia could not help but be aware of the raw male scent of his skin. It was not a sensation she was enjoying. She did not want to be aware of him, in any way; and her life to date had not led her to believe that she was likely to be affected by members of his sex. But the fact remained, she was disconcerted by his proximity, and uncomfortably conscious of his superior strength.
‘Mr Gantry—’
‘It was Alex a moment ago.’
‘Alex, then—’ She squeezed all her small store of composure into a tight ball. ‘I think this conversation has gone far enough, don’t you? If you’ll just allow me to reach the door…’
‘You haven’t touched your supper,’ he reminded her provokingly, and Olivia’s shoulders sagged.
‘I intend to take the tray up to my room,’ she stated raggedly, although in fact she had only just remembered it. ‘Alex, please, stop teasing me!’
‘Teasing!’ He made a stifled sound of derision, and before she could move, his hands gripped her waist, hard through the fine wool of the caftan. ‘Teasing,’ he said again, bending his head towards her. ‘Oh, Liv, I’m not teasing!’ and although she twisted her head away, his mouth sought and eventually imprisoned hers.
It was a cruel assault, made the more so by the savage way he forced her head round to his. His jaw was hard against her cheek, the roughness of his unshaven beard scraping her sensitive skin. His teeth bruised her lips as his own forced them apart, and the brutal pressure of his mouth on hers was a suffocating debasement.
Olivia tried to fight him off, but he was much too strong and much too determined to be thwarted by her puny efforts. Her hands pummelled uselessly at his back, but her breasts were crushed against his chest, and the rigid muscles of his legs were a solid barrier to any physical protest she tried to make.
His mouth silenced her verbal objections. Although sounds of resistance gurgled in her throat, she was powerless to help herself, and as the searching sensuality of his mouth continued to ravage her senses, new and disturbing sensations began to trouble her. His hands slid from her waist to her hips and evoked an uncontrollable response, and Olivia’s defences crumbled. With the hungry demand of his lips softening to an unbearable intimacy, weakness enveloped her, and the hands which had only moments before been hammering at his shoulders were suddenly clutching the rough wool of his sweater.
‘You—bitch!’ he muttered suddenly against her lips, as his leg insinuated itself between hers, but the sound of his contemptuous voice, combined with the stirring pressure she could now feel against her stomach, brought Olivia to a horrifying awareness of what was happening.
‘Oh, my God!’ she choked, tearing her mouth from his. ‘My God!’ and because he chose to let her go, she was able to drag herself away from him.
She wished the ground would open up and swallow her when she saw the mocking gleam in his dark eyes, eyes that were almost black now as they raked her frozen revulsion. ‘Poor Liv,’ he taunted unkindly, making no attempt to hide his own arousal, ‘you didn’t find much satisfaction in your husband’s bed, did you? You must have been desperate—’
Olivia’s instinctive response rang quietly in the book-lined room, and her fingers stung horribly after impacting with his cheek. Gulping back a sob, she practically flew out of the door, and lifting the hem of the caftan she ran quickly up the stairs.
With the door of her room closed firmly behind her, she was forced to face the fact that his accusation had not been unjustified. Dear God, she thought disgustedly, she had behaved like the common slut he evidently thought her. How could she have allowed such a thing to happen? And today of all days! Henry was dead. Had Alex no respect? And how could she have played into his hands, and betrayed her own self-esteem? The tears she had not shed through these long and lonely hours spilled from her eyes and she wept for the realisation that she was not immune after all…
CHAPTER THREE
IT was barely eight o’clock when Olivia went downstairs. She had not slept, indeed, she had spent most of the night in the library, reading into the small hours after she was sure that Alex Gantry had gone to bed. And as soon as it was light, she had bathed and dressed, in black leather pants and a matching jerkin, and left her room once more. For once, she had no appreciation for her surroundings, and the thoughts which had occupied the long lonely hours of the night had left an unpleasant taste in her mouth. There were dark lines around her eyes, and she had fastened her hair at her nape with a strip of black leather. She looked like a hag, she thought dejectedly, finding nothing of beauty in her dark-fringed eyes and unsmiling mouth; but it was quite apt, she decided, because she felt like one.
The table in the dining room was laid for two, and for a moment Olivia wondered how Mrs Winters had known Francis was joining her for breakfast. But then the obvious explanation for those two place settings occurred to her, and her skin prickled unpleasantly in anticipation of the eventual encounter.
She had tormented her brain, trying to come to some decision regarding Alex Gantry. But the situation had been confused by what had happened the night before, and she could not entirely dissociate the man from the dilemma. It would have been easier if that disgusting scene had not taken place. But it had; and while she kept telling herself it had nothing to do with the issue, she was human—and it did!
It was strange, but she had imagined Alex Gantry would be a weaker man. But he was Henry’s son, after all, and how he must be congratulating himself for so cleverly insinuating himself back into the household. He had used Mrs Winters shamefully, exploiting her undoubted affection for him to his own ends, and creating an illusory image of his relationship with his stepmother. His stepmother! Olivia’s skin crawled. He was not her stepson, she told herself fiercely; he was not, he couldn’t be; but he was, and that made everything that had happened so much more shameful!
With her arms wrapped closely about herself, as if to ward off the evil thoughts that persisted in tormenting her, Olivia walked across to the windows. The dining room faced south, across the river, and the view had always been a source of delight to her. But not this morning. Not even the patches of blue, clearing in the overhanging skies, could lift the burden of despondency that seemed to be weighing her down, and even the sight of a pair of sparrows squabbling on the lawn could not lighten her mood.
‘Oh, you’re up, Mrs Gantry!’
Mrs Winters’ surprised greeting brought Olivia round with a start, but she acknowledged the housekeeper’s appearance with a faint smile.
‘I couldn’t sleep,’ she said, perching on the edge of the window seat. ‘It’s a fine morning. Is it very cold?’
‘Cold enough,’ agreed Mrs Winters, viewing her mistress’s pale face with some concern. ‘Are you sure you should be up, Mrs Gantry? You’re looking very tired.’
‘Haggard is the word, Mrs Winters,’ Olivia amended drily. ‘I look haggard—I know it. It must be—delayed shock.’
Mrs Winters clicked her tongue. ‘I knew yesterday was too much for you.’
‘Oh, yes, you did. And it was.’ Olivia’s lips compressed. ‘But don’t worry, Mrs Winters, I’ll survive.’
‘If you say so, Mrs Gantry.’ Mrs Winters sighed. ‘But I do wish you’d take more care of yourself.’
Olivia made a barely audible sound of self-derision. ‘Oh, so do I, Mrs Winters,’ she agreed, and then, getting up from the window seat: ‘By the way, Mr Kennedy is joining me for breakfast. Will you send him into Henry’s study when he arrives? We’ll have breakfast in there, if you don’t mind.’
‘Very well, Mrs Gantry.’ But Mrs Winters was not pleased, and Olivia wondered if she was concerned for herself, or for Alex Gantry’s sake. After all, it would be rather galling for him to come down and find himself eating in magnificent isolation. Still, he could always eat in his own room, she mused tautly. Somehow she did not think he was the type of man to allow any woman to get the better of him. Her lips tightened. She had not thought to ask whether he was married. Surely he could not be now or he would not have taken up her unwilling offer of accommodation. Unless he and his wife were separated; unless he was divorced.
‘Will you have some coffee now?’
Mrs Winters was speaking again, and Olivia had to concentrate on what she was saying. ‘What? Oh—oh, yes. That would be very nice, thank you.’
Francis arrived as she was drinking her second cup of strong black coffee. Murdoch showed him into the dining room, and Olivia
got hastily to her feet to welcome him.
‘I thought we’d have breakfast in Henry’s study,’ she said, after the preliminary greetings were over. ‘If you have no objections, of course.’
‘None whatsoever.’ Francis was endearingly amenable.
‘Oh, good.’ Olivia offered a slight smile. ‘Murdoch, perhaps you’d tell Mrs Winters she can serve breakfast as soon as she likes.’
‘Yes, Mrs Gantry.’
Murdoch inclined his greying head and left them, and rather nervously, Olivia led the way out of the dining room and along the wide, carpeted corridor to Henry’s study.
This room had scarcely been touched since Henry’s death. His desk was still littered with the papers and contracts he had been examining on the morning he had collapsed and been taken into hospital, and for all her studied indifference, Olivia could not deny the sudden dart of pain that pricked her heart. He had been her husband, after all, and six months could seem an awfully long time in retrospect.
Sweeping all the papers into her arms, she deposited them on the desk his secretary had used when she had been summoned to work at the house. Then, turning to Francis with a rather constrained expression, she indicated that he should sit down.
‘You know this room so much better than I do,’ she declared, taking Henry’s chair at the opposite side of the desk. ‘Did my husband do much work at home?’
Francis shrugged. ‘Latterly, more than before.’
Olivia nodded. ‘I imagine he came to depend on you completely.’
‘Towards the end,’ Francis agreed carefully. ‘He was a very sick man, Mrs Gantry.’
‘Yes, I know.’ Olivia took a deep breath before resting her elbows on the table, and propping her chin on her knuckles. ‘You were very loyal, Francis.’
‘I did my job,’ he maintained steadily.
‘So—’ She paused. ‘What do you plan to do now?’
‘Now?’ He pulled a wry face. ‘Why, to continue working for the company, I hope.’
