by Anne Mather
Olivia hesitated, but then realising it would be foolish to sit there without a drink, she acquiesced. ‘I’ll have a Martini,’ she conceded shortly. ‘With ice and soda.’
While Alex was ordering their drinks, Olivia took the opportunity to glance about her. Although the room was not large, it was well patronised, and she wondered apprehensively whether their identity had been observed. The restaurant itself was discreetly lit and intimate, the kind of place one might use for an indiscreet assignation. And that was what this was, she thought tensely, as she met Alex’s disturbing dark gaze.
‘So,’ he said, when her Martini had been served and a squat tumbler, half filled with an amber-coloured liquid, had been set before him. ‘You’re looking a little less harassed now. What did Kennedy say to you after I left? I guess he wasn’t too suited when you decided to back me.’
‘I did not back you!’ Olivia retorted, turning her glass between her palms. ‘I—I merely agreed that a report would give us all a—a breathing space.’
Alex inclined his head. ‘But Kennedy didn’t agree.’
‘He—he neither agreed nor disagreed.’
‘He does what you tell him, right?’
Olivia flushed at the deliberate irony. ‘Francis—Francis is a friend.’
‘I’ll bet he is!’
‘You don’t understand—’
‘Nor do you.’
Olivia looked away from that mocking face. It was impossible to hold a discussion with him. He did not trust her, and after the things Francis had said, she had even less reason to trust him. It was an impossible situation, made the more so by her unwilling awareness of him as a man…
‘At least tell me what he said to make you look so distraught,’ Alex urged, and her eyes darted to his in swift confusion.
‘He—Francis, that is—he didn’t say anything.’
‘Well, someone must have said something to upset you,’ Alex persisted. ‘And if it wasn’t Kennedy, I wonder who—’
‘It was nobody!’ Olivia spoke vehemently. ‘No one said anything to me, I tell you. I—I expect the cold air—’
‘Ah, now I begin to understand.’ Alex toyed with his glass, his mouth twisting wryly as he viewed her distress. ‘It wasn’t something that was said, it was something you overheard. From whom, I wonder? And where? In the lift?’
His perception was unnerving, but Olivia refused to satisfy him, and with a shrug he added: ‘I guess it was to do with you and me. My presence in the building did cause quite a stir, and I can imagine how our relationship might be misconstrued.’
‘You flatter yourself!’ Olivia spoke in a low, angry tone. ‘I doubt your arrival caused more than a flutter on the office grapevine.’
Alex lifted one shoulder in a curiously appealing gesture, and Olivia looked down into her glass as the familiar feeling of attraction prickled across her skin.
The arrival of the waiter with the menus was a welcome distraction, and while Alex discussed the relative merits of various dishes with the man, Olivia struggled to control her unruly emotions. It should not be so hard, she told herself desperately. This man was Henry’s son, after all, and she had had no love for his father. And yet, without the complicating barrier of their relationship, she knew his identity would not have been enough…
‘Does avocado appeal to you?’ Alex was asking her now, and it was incredibly difficult to concentrate on food when her senses were arousing entirely different appetites.
‘What? Avocado?’ Olivia moistened her dry lips. ‘Oh—oh, yes. That sounds very nice—’
‘—and steak?’ he prompted, and she nodded jerkily.
‘Medium,’ she agreed, wishing he would stop looking at her.
‘You got that?’ Alex asked, turning back to the waiter, and Olivia took a mouthful of her Martini in an effort to restore her equilibrium.
‘Okay.’ The waiter had departed, and Alex turned back to her. ‘What’s the matter? Did I miss something?’
Olivia shook her head. ‘This—this Martini: it’s rather sharp—’
Alex looked sceptical, but he didn’t pursue it, much to her relief. Instead, he rested both his elbows on the table, and looking sideways at her he said: ‘Why have you been avoiding me?’
‘I haven’t.’
Olivia responded instantly, but Alex was not going to let this topic go. ‘What would you call it?’
‘I’ve been ill.’
‘You’ve had a cold. Mrs Winters told me.’
Olivia shrugged. ‘Then you’ll know the doctor confined me to my room.’
‘So conveniently!’
Olivia trod more confidently: ‘I was ill. I—I suppose it was the aftermath of your father’s death. It has been a strain—’
‘For someone who hated him?’
She ought to have expected it, she knew. Alex Gantry was not the kind of man to whom one could make a statement of that kind without there coming a time when she would have to explain herself. But she had been ready for it a week ago. Now she wasn’t.
‘Anyone’s death is a strain,’ she said evasively.
‘ “Any man’s death diminishes me”—is that it?’ he remarked drily. ‘Do you read John Donne? If so, you’ll know how that ends.’
Olivia forced herself to meet his gaze. ‘Is that a threat?’
Alex shook his head. ‘I just want to know what he did to make you hate him.’
Olivia drew a deep breath. ‘I don’t think that’s any concern of yours.’
‘On the contrary, I’m his son, and I have the right to wonder what happened to make you change towards him.’
‘I didn’t—’ Olivia broke off abruptly, aware that she had almost betrayed herself. ‘I didn’t—change—towards him. Your—your father didn’t—know.’
‘That you hated him?’ Alex pushed back the thick strands of ash-fair hair that had strayed across his forehead with a bewildered hand. ‘Forgive me, I’m just a simple fellow; but I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.’
‘You don’t have to,’ replied Olivia composedly. ‘Oh—look! I think this is our mousse.’
The next few minutes were taken up with the waiter serving the mousse, and the wine waiter serving a bottle of red wine. It was a delicious claret, not too dry, and chambré to perfection, and Olivia took the opportunity to comment on the wine to avoid any further embarrassment. But Alex was not so easily diverted, and when the waiters had departed and they were alone again, he resumed his questioning:
‘What happened?’ he persisted, moving along the banquette so that his thigh was brushing hers. And when she looked up at him with wide startled eyes, he added: ‘Didn’t you want to go through with it? Did you really believe the old man wouldn’t demand his pound of flesh!’
Olivia’s lips parted. ‘I don’t know what you—’
‘No wonder you find Kennedy so attractive. I guess he’s been the only compensation you’ve had.’
Olivia gasped. ‘You—you’re despicable!’
‘Why? Because I speak the truth. Because the picture of you going to bed with a man almost old enough to be your grandfather makes me sick to my stomach! You must have been pretty desperate, that’s all I can say.’
‘You—bastard!’
Alex’s eyes glittered. ‘Don’t tempt me, Liv. Right now, I’m choked enough to make you pay for those words!’
Olivia forced back a sob. ‘Why? Because they’re true?’ she taunted, and Alex impaled her with a look.
‘I warned you,’ he said, his dark gaze shifting to her mouth. ‘Like father, like son, isn’t that what they say?’
‘Don’t be so ridiculous—’
‘Let’s find out, shall we?’ he grated, and his hand at her nape brought her mouth to his.
His lips were flavoured with wine, warm and soft and sensual, and in no way the assault they had been previously. For a heart-stopping moment, she was too shocked to resist him, and she could feel his lips against hers, coaxing them apart, seeking the moist s
weetness within. Then horror at what she was doing brought her back from the brink.
‘No—’ she choked against his lips, trying to drag herself away, but although his mouth was gentle, his hold on her was not. His free hand was gripping her thigh with a painful intensity, imprisoning her to the seat, and imprisoning her in his grasp. Things her mother had told her, ways of defending herself in these circumstances, flooded her confused brain, but only her hands were free, and the idea of delivering a blow where it would hurt him filled her with revulsion. She couldn’t do it; she could only steel herself against him, and pray that the seclusion of their table and the discreet lighting in the restaurant would conceal what was happening.
When he finally set her free, he was breathing hard, and his lean face was paler beneath his tan. Instead of eating his mousse, he pushed the plate aside, and finishing the wine in his glass, he poured himself some more with hands that were not quite steady.
‘Point proved, I think,’ he said at last, his voice harsh and accusing. ‘My God, Liv, do you really expect me to believe a man of nearly seventy could satisfy you? You were cheating him all along the line. Admit it!’
Olivia had taken the few minutes when he had been pouring his wine to compose herself, and now she found she could answer him quite calmly, even though her nerves were as taut as violin strings. ‘I don’t intend to admit anything to you, Mr Gantry! You can believe what you like. What you can’t do is make me hate myself any more than I do already. Now, shall we abandon this abortive attempt at conviviality, and go our separate ways?’
‘No!’ To her astonishment, Alex’s fingers about her wrist prevented her from rising. ‘No, Mrs Gantry, I haven’t finished with you yet. Like I told you the other day, my father may have married you, but I’m here to see you don’t enjoy being his widow!’
CHAPTER SIX
OLIVIA was beginning to believe she must be quite mad to consider putting Alex Gantry in a position of command. Francis was right. He was untrustworthy, and completely unscrupulous; and although she found excuses for his bitterness in the arbitrary terms of his father’s will, she could not excuse his behaviour towards her.
He had no respect for her, that was obvious, and he evidently believed she had been as unscrupulous as himself in persuading his father to marry her. She doubted he would believe the truth, even if she told it to him, and in any case, the idea of doing that was not one she seriously considered. There were limits to the sacrifice she was prepared to make, she discovered, and the longer she knew Alex Gantry, the more sympathy she had with his father.
It was a terrible situation. It should have been simple, but it wasn’t, and as in all things, personalities coloured opinions. It was all very well deciding to give Alex back what was rightfully his when he was just a faceless name from the past. Knowing him in the flesh, learning what manner of man he was, and how easily he could overwhelm her inhibitions, was another thing altogether, and despite her good intentions, she was torn by the knowledge of the weaknesses he could exploit. Dear God, she thought fearfully, she knew what would happen if she continued to live in Henry’s house: sooner or later, Alex would decide that she was as much his to control as the Gantry corporation, and that was something she could never allow. But how could she prevent it when her own body betrayed her, every time he touched her?
If only she was more experienced, she thought, remembering those occasions when she had had dates in the past that had never progressed farther than a furtive fumbling in the dark of a parked car. Sex was not something she had ever been curious about. Instead, she had been amused when some young man attempted to arouse her with groping fingers, and her laughter had proved a very adequate form of protection. She had passed her university days without any desire for a serious commitment, and when she had accepted Henry’s offer of marriage she had done so in the belief that she was incapable of having a sexual relationship.
How wrong she had been, she flayed herself bitterly. From the minute she met Alex, from the minute she encountered those night-dark eyes, she had been fighting a losing battle against his attraction; and while she was not naïve enough to imagine that what she felt for him was love, she knew that when he touched her, she wanted to touch him, too.
With such thoughts for company, the journey back to Chalcott was not the most comfortable Olivia had spent. Seated with Alex, in the sleek grey Maserati he had acquired for his own use, she was intensely conscious of the lean length of him, relaxed beside her. He was so cool, she thought angrily, so sure of himself; while she was living on her nerves and despising the awareness she had of his lithe muscled body.
‘Do you like the car?’ he enquired at one point, causing her to glance his way in reluctant acquiescence.
‘Does it matter?’ she demanded tautly, dragging her eyes from the long brown fingers stroking the wheel, and he inclined his head.
‘It should,’ he remarked carelessly. ‘Considering you paid for it. You’re very generous. I must remember that when our positions are reversed.’
Olivia’s face mirrored her disbelief. ‘I paid for it?’ she echoed.
‘Of course.’ Alex shifted more comfortably in his seat. ‘You did tell me to get a car of my own, didn’t you? The garage proprietor was most appreciative of your custom.’
Olivia expelled her breath noisily. ‘You—you—how dare you? I did not offer to pay for a car for you! Naturally, I assumed—’
‘And naturally I assumed you wouldn’t want your stepson running around in an old banger,’ retorted Alex mildly, not at all perturbed by her outraged face. ‘Come on, Liv! It’s a beautiful car. Admit it! How could I offer to drive you home in some old rattletrap?’
‘I didn’t need you to drive me home,’ replied Olivia icily. ‘Oh, you’re completely unprincipled, aren’t you? You’re determined to cause as much trouble as you possibly can.’
‘I did warn you,’ he replied evenly. ‘By the way, would you have any objections if I invited a guest to stay for a few days?’
Olivia stared at him. ‘Yes,’ she said angrily. ‘Yes, I would object. Don’t imagine you’re going to use my home as some kind of dosshouse for every hanger-on you choose to befriend!’
‘It’s a female, actually,’ Alex told her without emphasis, and Olivia’s temper exploded.
‘You dare to suggest bringing some girl-friend of yours into the house!’ she spat furiously. ‘My God, you’ve got a nerve! Not only do you come and force your way into my house, but you’re actually suggesting I entertain your mistress—’
‘She’s not my mistress,’ Alex interrupted her harshly, his own temper surfacing after that cutting accusation. ‘She’s just someone I know. A friend, if you like. Someone who’d like to meet you.’
‘Well, I don’t want to meet any friend of yours!’ retorted Olivia, too incensed to think reasonably. ‘In fact, I think it would be better if you found somewhere else to stay. You can always lease a flat in my name. Just as you got this car.’
‘You really are a bitch, aren’t you, Liv?’ he said, his lips curling contemptuously. ‘What’s the matter? What are you afraid of suddenly? Isn’t the house big enough for both of us? I don’t intend our joint tenancy to last indefinitely, you know.’
Olivia turned her head away to stare out of the window, her anger evaporating to leave a horribly flat feeling. What was she doing? What was she doing? Couldn’t she at least sustain a pretence at civility, even if it was only a veneer? As Alex had said, the situation could not last much longer, and once the report was produced…
‘I’m sorry,’ she got out at last, without looking at him, noticing with relief that they were already passing through the outskirts of Chalcott. They would be home in less than ten minutes. Virginia Drive was situated on the far side of the small country town, only a couple of miles from its centre. ‘I—it’s foolish for us to go on like this. Can’t we at least attempt to be civil with one another?’
‘On whose terms?’ Alex asked tersely, and she glanced round at
him.
‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘I mean—exactly what are you suggesting? That we go on as before?’
‘I—I suppose so.’
‘And—Lilian?’
Olivia’s cheek muscles stiffened. ‘Lilian?’ she echoed. ‘You mean—this girl-friend of yours?’
‘Who else?’ Alex took his eyes from the road for a moment to meet her indignant gaze. ‘Do I get your permission to invite her to stay?’
Olivia sighed. ‘Alex—’
‘Well?’
She bent her head and pulled off her gloves with jerky movements. The idea of allowing some strange female into the house was not attractive, but it might mean her salvation. Surely, with some other girl to distract his attention, she might view their relationship more objectively.
‘Who is she?’ she asked now, without looking at him. ‘You called her Lilian. I—I gather she isn’t the—the girl who—who’s been telephoning you.’
Alex made a derisive sound. ‘Who told you about that? Oh, don’t bother to answer, I can guess. Mrs Winters. And yes, as it happens, it is the same girl.’
Olivia’s brows were drawn as she gazed at him. ‘But her name was Missy. And—and it wasn’t Mrs Winters who told me. It was Mary.’
‘Missy!’ Alex caught an amused breath. ‘You mean—Miss Eve! Lilian Eve. Get it?’
‘Oh!’ Olivia pressed her gloves between her cold fingers. ‘I see.’
‘And?’
Olivia shook her head. ‘Invite her if you must,’ she exclaimed tautly, and thereafter maintained an uneasy silence until the gates of the house were reached.
* * *
She had dinner with Alex that evening. They ate in the dining room, the long polished table lit with scented candles, whose golden flames cast an edge of gilt over silver knives and forks and fine fluted glass. Outside, the darkness of the verandah and the terraced gardens beyond cast back their reflections through the glass, the candles moving in the draught causing the image to shimmer like summer heat.
