by Anne Mather
‘We go out through the sun lounge,’ Olivia was forced to remind him, and she thought for a moment he looked quite confused. But then, with an indifferent shrug of his shoulders, he allowed her to lead the way, and they descended the stairs again that gave access to the back of the house.
The terrace that ran across the rear of the building gave on to a mosaic-tiled patio, with an elegantly-shaped swimming pool empty now, forming a centrepiece. There were poolside cabanas, half hidden by trellises, and shallow steps leading down to a rose garden. The whole area looked rather forlorn at this time of year, but when Olivia had first seen it, it had been a riot of colour.
Alex stood for a few moments on the terrace, his breath misting in the chilly air, surveying the lawns beyond the rose garden, and the hedge of tall poplars that grew at the side of the house. His eyes dipped over a sloping paddock, fenced about with white rails, to the marshy meadow beside the river, and then lifted again over the undulating farmland he could see across the swiftly-flowing water.
‘That’s Gantry land, too, isn’t it?’ he remarked, pointing towards a field where a flock of ewes and their lambs were gathered together for warmth.
‘Yes.’ Olivia followed his gaze. ‘When the farms came on the market, your father bought them.’
Alex made a sound deep in his throat. ‘He certainly had a head for business, didn’t he? I wonder what he paid for them in those days. The land must be worth a hell of a lot more today.’
‘I suppose so.’ Olivia’s tone was flat now. ‘Shall we go on?’
They followed the path that led between lawns and flower borders, sadly neglected now, until they reached the paddock. Olivia looked at Alex, and then swung herself up on to the rail, swinging her leg over and jumping down into the spongy turf beyond. There was a gate, but she had seldom used it, and as she generally walked alone, she was used to climbing fences.
‘Is this how you keep slim?’ asked Alex, vaulting over the fence and joining her in the paddock.
‘I enjoy walking,’ Olivia conceded. ‘I suppose you’re used to plenty of exercise.’
‘Well, it isn’t a cushioned existence,’ he admitted drily. ‘But I get most of my exercise trying to persuade a lethargic work-force it’s in their best interests as well as mine to increase productivity.’
Olivia glanced his way. ‘You mean the men who work in your mine?’
‘I do.’
She paused. ‘What kind of mine is it?’
‘Oh—’ he hesitated, ‘we quarry mineral ore in large quantities. Unfortunately, valuable minerals are present in such small amounts, the cost of the work involved can outweigh its value.’
‘I see.’ Olivia was interested in spite of herself. ‘I think I read something like that about oil in Alaska. But they’re building a pipeline now, aren’t they?’
‘That’s because oil has become so expensive,’ replied Alex easily. ‘What was once an unreasonable proposition is now feasible, and the oil companies are the last people to sit on a good idea.’
‘You sound as if you know about oil,’ commented Olivia quietly. ‘Have you ever worked for an oil company?’
‘Me?’ Alex looked at her strangely. ‘Hell, no. Didn’t my father tell you! I’m not interested in chemicals.’
Olivia shrugged. ‘So—do you like living in Africa?’ she asked, not wanting to dwell on such a controversial subject. ‘Where was it you said you lived? Tsaba? Is that a very big country?’
‘No.’ Alex scuffed his boot in the grass. ‘Quite a small one, actually. But the people are friendly, and communications are good.’
They had reached the boundary of the paddock, and Olivia stopped and rested her arms on the fence. ‘How long have you lived in Africa?’ she asked. ‘I only know you left here in 1967, and that your father hadn’t seen you since.’
Alex propped his elbows on the rail beside her, and studied the view. Because he wasn’t looking at her, Olivia felt quite at liberty to look at him, and she noticed the lighter tones of the skin around his eyes where he had screwed them up against a powerful sun. He had very brown skin, unusual with such ash-fair hair, his brows firm and clearly marked, his lashes thick and short and bleached at the tips. His nose was straight above a well-formed upper lip, the lower lip fuller, and definitely sensuous. He was not handsome, she thought critically, but he was attractive, and with his age and experience she doubted she was the first female to make that comparison.
She was so absorbed with her thoughts, she was unaware he had turned to look at her, and she started violently when he said: ‘Why did you marry Henry, Liv? I can’t believe he was the only pebble on your stretch of the beach.’
‘If that means what I think it means, then my answer should be that there aren’t too many men like your father around,’ she retorted, giving him the benefit of her profile. She put her hands on the rail. ‘Shall we go down to the river? There are some wild geese nesting in the reeds. If you’re very lucky, you may catch sight of them.’
‘Cool it!’ Alex’s hard fingers compelled her acquiescence, curving around her forearm, and preventing her from rising. ‘What I meant was—you’re a good-looking woman: you can’t have been that desperate for a meal-ticket!’
‘How charmingly you put it!’ Olivia exclaimed, her breathing quickening instinctively. ‘I know you won’t believe this, but my reasons for marrying your father had little to do with inheriting his estate!’
Alex considered her indignant face for a moment, then he said harshly; ‘You’re right, I don’t believe it.’
‘Suit yourself.’
Olivia was abrupt, and his immediate response was to subject her to an unnerving stare. ‘You’re not telling me you fell in love with the old man, are you?’ he demanded, but there was an element of mild incredulity in his tones just the same, as if he wasn’t completely certain.
‘No.’ Olivia refused to give him that satisfaction, even though it might have been easier for her. ‘No, I didn’t love him. As a matter of fact, I hated him! Now—shall we continue?’
She did find some satisfaction in Alex’s stunned reaction, but she was intelligent enough to realise that once his initial shock was over, she could expect a much more violent response. It might be perfectly satisfactory for him to express criticism of his father; hearing criticism from another quarter was an entirely different thing.
But once again he confounded her, releasing her wrist and climbing over the fence into the marshy meadow beyond. He waited for her to join him, and with some misgivings she did so, avoiding the hand he offered to assist her and dropping down cautiously on to the swampy grass.
‘Tell me,’ he said, as they squelched down the slope towards the river, ‘what did you do before you got married? What were you, a model or something? Or simply somebody’s secretary?’
‘What does it matter?’ Olivia pushed her hands into the pockets of her coat. ‘Do you think it looks like snow? I don’t know how those lambs survive in this climate.’
‘They wear coats, like this one,’ remarked Alex laconically, picking up a stone and sending it flying across the water in a series of arches. ‘Ducks and drakes—did you used to play that when you were a little girl?’
Olivia shook her head. ‘I lived in London all my life until I got married. There weren’t many places where we could play. Just in the square below the flats, and occasionally my mother took me to the park. But she didn’t allow me to go there alone, or with the other children.’ She sighed, not really thinking how revealing her words might be. ‘She was very protective.’
‘Protective—or possessive?’ Alex probed, watching her closely, and Olivia chided her careless tongue for telling him so much.
‘She’s dead now anyway,’ she said, hoping that would be an end of it. She gestured towards the wooden structure, some way farther along the riverbank. ‘Do you remember the boathouse? Your father said it was once occupied, but not in recent years.’
‘No.’ Alex surveyed the creosoted exterior of
the building with brooding eyes. ‘And yes, I remember it. How could I forget?’
Olivia looked quickly at him. ‘What do you mean? What significance does it have for you? Was it your boat he kept there? I suppose he sold it after you left.’
‘The boat sank,’ declared Alex flatly, turning abruptly away. ‘Let’s go back to the house, shall we? I’ve got some telephone calls to make.’
Olivia was puzzled, but she could not ask him to explain. Obviously whatever the boathouse meant to him had something to do with his past relationship with his father, and she was loath to rekindle the hostility that that association bred. For almost an hour they had remained civil with one another, which was something of a record, but all the same she wished she knew what he was thinking.
Back at the house, he was his old objectionable self, flinging his father’s jacket on to the chest in the hall and striding with abominable arrogance down to his father’s study.
‘You don’t mind if I make my calls in there, do you?’ he asked Olivia, as she hovered doubtfully on the upper level, her hands still pressed deeply into the pockets of her coat. His tone was provoking, willing her to challenge him, but Olivia squashed her indignation and replied: ‘Why not?’
‘Don’t you want to know who I’m going to ring?’ he persisted, mocking her indifference. ‘Aren’t you at all perturbed that I might find some allies, some faces on the board who found the spectacle of Henry Gantry marrying a girl scarcely out of her teens totally out of character? The old man must have been senile. And with the right backing, it might be possible to prove it!’
‘It would be totally untrue!’ Olivia was stung into retaliation. ‘Your father had complete possession of his faculties, right up until the end.’ Her face twisted. ‘I don’t know how you can suggest such a thing! He was your father!’
Alex’s eyes narrowed. ‘Have I touched a raw nerve? It seems to me, for someone who professed only a few minutes ago that she hated him, you’re remarkably quick to come to his defence.’
Olivia’s teeth jarred together. ‘And you’re completely without sensitivity! My God, he was only buried yesterday. Can’t you at least show a little respect!’
Alex shrugged. ‘Why should I? He never showed any respect for anyone, least of all me. Unless you know different.’
Olivia turned towards the stairs. In every argument she came out the loser, and every time she came near to telling him what she wanted to do, he forced her back into a defensive position.
‘By the way,’ Alex lifted one foot to the second step, resting one arm across his knee, ‘you didn’t tell me what car I could use, and as I intend to go out after I’ve made my calls, I’d like a firm decision.’
Olivia gasped. ‘I didn’t tell you because I haven’t given the matter any thought,’ she retorted. ‘I suggest you get a car of your own. There are plenty of garages in Chalcott.’
‘Okay.’
Alex dropped his foot again and stood looking up at her, his dark eyes enigmatic between the lowering thickness of his lashes. Olivia, delaying in spite of herself, could not prevent an unwelcome awareness of him, a conscious response to his sexuality, that was wholly instinctive. He really was the most disturbing man she had ever known, and the realisation that she was attracted to him hit her like a blow to her solar plexus. Dear God, she thought, swinging round on her heels and groping for the reassuring rail of the banister, she must be out of her mind! Either that or, as he had accused her, desperate for attention. But one thing was certain, she thought, shivering with a sudden chill, whatever her hang-ups, he was the one man she could never have.
CHAPTER FIVE
‘YOU have to be crazy, Mrs Gantry!’
Olivia was sitting in Francis Kennedy’s office on the twenty-second floor of the Gantry building, and from her chair she had a magnificent view of the city spread out below her. The only floor above this one was the penthouse apartment, where Henry used to entertain visiting business associates, and where he occasionally held parties for his senior office staff.
Henry’s office was the one adjoining Francis’, a large square panelled room, with a huge portrait of Henry himself hung above the mantel. Like this room, it had wide windows overlooking Curzon Street with Hyde Park beyond, but Olivia still felt vaguely intimidated by its air of stern solemnity.
Francis’ office was different. It was lighter, for one thing, without the heavy oak panels, and the walls were hung with prints of old Aston Martins and Lanchesters, and a Model T Ford, reflecting Francis’ interest in vintage cars.
But right now, Francis’ face was as stern and as solemn as the walls of Henry Gantry’s office. It was just a week since the funeral, a week since Alex Gantry had burst into her life, and Olivia wished she felt more capable of upholding her decision.
It hadn’t helped to go down with a severe cold two days after Alex’s arrival. She guessed she had contracted the cold standing by the graveside, and remembering how chilled she had felt, it was hardly surprising. Nevertheless, it was unusual for something as trivial as a cold to confine her to her room for several days, and she could only assume that Mrs Winters had been right, and that she had taken too little rest in recent weeks.
She refused to admit that Alex’s hostility had been the reason for her exhaustion. His presence had complicated the situation, but she would have to learn to live with it. She refused to believe that her body’s frailty could in any way be contributable to the weak moment when she had experienced that unwilling attraction towards him. It had been a fleeting thing, she had told herself, an acknowledgement of his undoubted strength and virility. As a person, she had only contempt for his callousness and his arrogance, and there were times, as now, when she half wished she had never devised this method of overruling her husband’s last wishes.
Not that she had seen much of Alex since their argument over the cars. According to Mary, whose nose for gossip she had shamefully exploited, Master Alex had spent little time in the house, but there had been several calls for him, and it was these that had interested Olivia most. It had been a little chastening to find that people like Barry Freeman and Sean Barrett had returned his calls, but she had consoled herself with the reassurance that both these men must have known him since he was born. It was only natural that they might have some lingering affection for Henry Gantry’s son, but she did not think either of them would look kindly on a plan to dishonour Henry’s name.
There had been two calls from a woman who called herself Missy. Mary had been quite conspiratorial when relating this information to Olivia. ‘It was so funny,’ she exclaimed, stifling a giggle, ‘I answered the phone, you see, because I was in the hall at the time, and this woman said in this awfully sexy voice: ‘Could I speak to Mr Gantry, please?’
‘So?’ Olivia had been impatient. ‘What was funny about that?’
‘Well,’ Mary warmed to her story, ‘I said Mr Gantry wasn’t here right now, and she said: “Oh, damn!” or something like that, and then she said: “Tell Leon I called!” I mean—imagine! She must have so many boyfriends, she even gets their names mixed up!’
Olivia had acknowledged this rather dubiously, but afterwards she had come to the conclusion that Leon could be a derivation of Alexander. Who knew what names a woman might call her lover in the heat of passion? she had reflected caustically, irritated by the evidence that Alex had wasted so little time before finding female companionship.
‘Mrs Gantry, are you listening to me?’
Francis’ frustrated voice came to her ears as if from a distance, and with a feeling of contrition, Olivia forced herself to concentrate. ‘I’m sorry, Francis,’ she said, smoothing her fine suede gloves between her fingers. ‘I’m afraid I didn’t hear what you said. Would you mind repeating it?’
‘I can’t believe you mean to go through with this, Mrs Gantry.’ Francis stared at her imploringly. ‘Surely there’s some other way. Give Alex Gantry the money you offered me; pay him off! Given time you won’t lose by it.’
&n
bsp; ‘And the Gantry corporation marches on regardless!’
‘Is that so important?’
‘Yes, it is.’ Olivia got up from her chair and walked to the windows, a slim elegant figure in her mink coat and pearls. She had dressed with especial care to come to the office, knowing she would be subjected to the most intense scrutiny, from the minute she entered the lobby downstairs. ‘I married Henry to get my revenge. Do you think I’m particular what form that revenge takes?’
Francis had risen also, and now he came round the desk to stand beside it. ‘You don’t mind that it’s Alex Gantry who is going to profit from it?’ he probed. ‘He is Henry’s son, after all. Do you really want to hand it to him on a plate?’
Olivia caught her breath. ‘Don’t try to change my mind, Francis.’
‘Why not?’ His tone was ironic now. ‘What have I got to lose?’
Olivia glanced sideways at him, suddenly aware of a certain tautness about his features, a grimness around his mouth. Not for the first time she thought how attractive his clean-cut features were, and in so doing realised there was more than bitterness in his face.
‘Francis!’ she exclaimed, his name barely audible on her lips, and he bowed his head a little ruefully as she identified his meaning. ‘Oh, Francis—I don’t know what to say.’
‘Don’t say anything,’ he advised her softly. ‘I’m surprised it didn’t occur to you before. I haven’t exactly been able to hide my feelings.’
‘You underestimate yourself.’ Olivia needed time to assimilate this new development. She had never dreamt that Francis might have more than her business interests at heart, and it was another complication.
‘Why do you think I haven’t betrayed what you told me to the other members of the board?’ he asked, holding her startled gaze with his, and Olivia shook her head.
‘I assumed—for the money.’
‘The quarter of a million you spoke of?’ Francis shook his head. ‘I could get at least four times that amount for the information you gave me.’
