by Anne Mather
‘To you and me, of course. To us!’ Richard captured one of her hands before she could stop him and brought it to his lips. ‘I love you, Liv.’
‘Don’t say that!’ She cast another horrified look in Manuel’s direction as she snatched her hand away. ‘Richard, please, there is no us! And you know it.’
‘I can’t accept that,’ he declared bitterly. ‘I’ve just not given you enough time, that’s all.’
‘Time?’ Olivia shook her head. ‘Time for what?’
‘To forgive me,’ said Richard doggedly. ‘I know you want to.’
Olivia stifled a groan. ‘I have forgiven you, Richard, but that doesn’t mean I want you back.’ She saw the gates of Diane’s mansion up ahead and moved forward in her seat. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘You will be,’ muttered Richard, flinging open his door as soon as the limousine stopped, and without waiting for her to alight he lurched up the steps and into the house, almost knocking María off her feet.
‘Meester Haig is one angry hombre,’ remarked Manuel wryly as he helped Olivia out of the car, and she was glad of his cheerful grin to restore her composure.
‘Isn’t he though?’ she agreed ruefully, looping the strap of her bag over her shoulder. ‘I’m sorry you had to be a party to that, Manuel.’
‘Hey, no sweat,’ Manuel assured her as his wife came down the steps to greet them. ‘You’re okay, aren’t you, chiquita?’ And at his wife’s nod he said, ‘I see you later, Mees Pyatt, okay?’
‘Okay.’
Olivia gave María an apologetic smile but her mind was already leaping towards the afternoon ahead. She had the feeling she was a fool to get any deeper involved in Diane’s affairs than she already was.
As usual, Diane was waiting for her in her sitting room, but this morning her slim figure was wrapped in the peacock blue kimono she’d apparently donned after taking her bath. Her hair was still damp and tousled, and the remains of the continental breakfast she had been picking at were still in front of her on a tray. As Olivia entered the room, she flung the script she had been flicking through onto the floor, her expression warning the younger woman that she was not in an amicable mood.
‘You’re late,’ she greeted Olivia irritably, though it was still barely ten minutes to ten. Often, Olivia had to wait until ten o‘clock for Diane to join her. ‘I suppose Ricky was telling you about his trip. I must say, I was surprised he cleared off to Las Vegas just a few days after you arrived.’
Olivia’s fingers tightened around the strap of her bag.
‘What Richard chooses to do doesn’t concern me, Ms Haran,’ she replied, hoping Diane would let it go at that. ‘Um—I’m sorry if I’ve kept you waiting. The traffic was quite heavy this morning.’
Diane pursed her lips. ‘But Ricky did go with Manuel to pick you up, didn’t he? At least, that’s what he told me he was going to do.’
‘Well, yes.’ Olivia suppressed her frustration. ‘Er, shall we make a start? I’ve got a few queries about what we were discussing yesterday.’
Diane regarded her dourly. ‘You’re so efficient, aren’t you, Olivia? You never let anything get you down. Not an unfaithful husband, or a dead-end job, or the fact that you’re living here at my beck and call. How do you do it? I’d like to know.’
‘It’s my career,’ said Olivia tightly, determined not to be provoked.
‘And you consider yourself better than me, don’t you?’ Diane fixed her with a baleful stare. ‘Just because you’ve had a better education. You think women like me are only good enough to sell our bodies to get a decent living.’
‘That’s not true.’
Olivia had to defend herself, but in all honesty she didn’t think of Diane in that way. Not any more. She doubted she would ever like her, but she did admire her. With the background she’d been describing, Olivia considered Diane’s success was little short of a miracle.
‘But you do despise me.’
‘No, I don’t.’
‘Ricky says you do.’
Richard!
Olivia wanted to scream. ‘He’s mistaken,’ she said firmly. ‘Ms Haran, I don’t think you’re in the mood for working this morning. Would you rather I went back to the hotel?’
‘And come back this afternoon, you mean?’
Diane seemed to be considering this, and Olivia wondered what she’d do if she said yes. But perhaps it would be for the best, she thought, remembering her misgivings. She was risking more than her self-respect by playing this game.
‘I—I could—’ she began, but Diane overruled her.
‘No. Joe might come by this afternoon, and I don’t want you here if he does.’ She frowned. ‘I thought he might have come last night, but I guess he heard that Ricky was back from Vegas.’ She grimaced. ‘I want to ask him about that woman he’s been seeing behind my back.’
Olivia felt as if all the colour had drained out of her face. Keeping her head lowered, she sank down weakly onto the sofa opposite Diane. Oh, God, she thought unsteadily, someone must have seen her with Joe last night.
‘Cow,’ went on Diane expressively, and Olivia stiffened her spine and lifted her head. She wasn’t a coward, she told herself fiercely, so she should stop behaving like one. Have it out with Diane now, if that was what this little charade was all about.
But Diane wasn’t looking at her; she was thumbing through the pages of a magazine she had at her side. Olivia thought she recognised the magazine. It was the edition of Forbes she herself had bought at the hotel.
‘What does he see in her?’ Diane demanded suddenly, finding the page she’d apparently been looking for and thrusting it across the table at Olivia. ‘Have you seen her? Anna Fellini. The woman Joe’s mother expects him to marry?’
Olivia stared at the picture of Joe and his business partner with new interest. So their relationship wasn’t a platonic one, after all. Her lips tightened. And Diane already had a rival, did she? And one far more adequate to fight for what she wanted than her.
‘Well?’
Diane was waiting for her reaction, and Olivia wet her lips as she tried to think of something relevant to say. ‘Um—she’s very elegant,’ she said, not quite knowing what was expected of her. She could hardly denigrate someone who was clearly one of the most attractive women she’d seen.
‘Elegant!’ scoffed Diane contemptuously. Then, as if revising her opinion, she snatched the magazine out of Olivia’s hands. ‘Well, yeah,’ she said grudgingly. ‘I suppose she is sophisticated, if you like that kind of thing. But she’s not hot. She’s not sexy. She doesn’t turn on every man she meets.’
‘No, I suppose not.’ Olivia had to admit that Anna Fellini’s looks were not sensual. Hers was a more classical appeal. Straight blunt-cut hair that shaped her scalp, and a Roman nose to die for. She guessed that, like Joe’s, her predecessors had been Italian. Which was probably why his mother would approve of the match.
‘I wonder if she’s come to LA with him?’ Diane brooded. ‘He was due back from San Francisco yesterday afternoon.’ She scowled, and looked at Olivia. ‘I guess you think I’m crazy, don’t you? As if he’d prefer a tight-assed bitch like her to me.’
Olivia didn’t know what to say to that. ‘Maybe he was busy,’ she offered, apropos of nothing at all. Then, in an effort to change the subject, she asked, ‘Did you find those photographs of when you were a teenager that you were going to show me?’
Diane tossed the magazine aside, her shoulders slumping gloomily. ‘No,’ she said impatiently. ‘I forgot all about them, if you want to know. Ask Ricky where they are. I don’t see why he shouldn’t make himself useful. I’m going to take another shower and get dressed, just in case Castellano decides to show.’
Olivia made no attempt to find Richard after Diane had gone up to get changed. The idea of asking her ex-husband for anything, after the conversation they had had earlier, was abhorrent to her, and she had enough to worry about as it was. Not least the arrangement she had made to meet Joe that afterno
on. When she’d agreed to his request, she’d never considered how he might spend his morning. The thought that he could turn up here at any moment caused a feeling of sick apprehension in her stomach.
Oh, she was no good at intrigue, she told herself crossly. Last night—well, last night she had had too much to drink, as witness the aspirin she’d had to take to ease her headache this morning, and what had happened seemed like some crazy dream. She couldn’t believe that she’d behaved so outrageously. Did she really need this kind of hassle? Wouldn’t it be simpler if she finished the book at home?
Of course it would, but for all that she knew she wasn’t eager to do it. Well, not yet, she amended, reluctant to think it through. For all her fears—her anxieties about Diane’s reaction—it was a long time, if ever, since she’d felt such excitement. She was tempting fate, maybe, but she’d never know until she tried.
Diane came back about forty-five minutes later with Bonnie Lovelace in tow. Olivia hadn’t been aware of the other woman’s arrival, but she’d learned from experience that Bonnie was often at the house. ‘I’ve decided you two can work together this morning,’ Diane announced, to Olivia’s dismay. She checked her hair in the mirror and admired the shapely curves of her figure. In a cream silk dress piped with red that flared from the hips and swirled some inches above her knees, she looked delightfully cool and svelte. ‘I’m going to try and find a date for lunch at Spago’s,’ she declared confidentially. ‘Tell Ricky not to bother to wait up.’
‘I will.’
Bonnie simpered; but then Bonnie always simpered when she was around Diane, thought Olivia irritably. But she couldn’t help a twinge of envy that Diane could just take off without even an apology. She grimaced. She should have known it was going to be one of those days when she’d found Richard waiting in the car.
CHAPTER NINE
IT WAS nearly half-past one by the time Olivia got back to the hotel.
She felt tired and frustrated, aware that most of the morning had been a waste of time. As usual, Bonnie had taken her responsibilities seriously, and although she’d paid little attention to anything Olivia had said she’d managed to talk continuously for almost two hours.
Diane had apparently suggested that she should show Olivia the photographs she’d been asking about earlier, and to Olivia’s dismay she had produced a box which must have contained every photograph Diane had ever had taken. And, ignoring Olivia’s protests, she’d insisted on staying with her, poring over her shoulder, and discussing them at length.
Olivia’s head had been aching when Bonnie seemed to realise the time, and she’d turned down Bonnie’s offer to have lunch at the house. Not that she expected Joe to turn up after Diane’s rather obvious announcement. But she’d desperately wanted to get away from the other woman’s nasal tones.
It was deliciously cool in her suite, and someone had placed a bowl of cream roses on an end table by the sofa. Their delicate fragrance eased her tension immediately, and, noticing the card that was attached to them, she turned it over.
‘To an English rose,’ she read disbelievingly, and the handwriting was not Richard’s.
Her heartbeat quickened. There was only one other person she could think of who might send her roses, and she glanced hurriedly at her watch. A quarter to two, she thought, feeling a twinge of panic. If the flowers weren’t a form of compensation, then she’d never be ready in time.
Dropping her bag onto the Chinese rug, she took a can of Diet Coke from the freezer and popped the tab. He wasn’t coming, she assured herself, drinking thirstily. There was no reason for her to worry about the time.
But what if he did?
The thought was irresistible, and without giving herself the opportunity to have second thoughts she scooted into her room. A quick shower, a change of shirt, and some fresh lipstick, she decided firmly. Even if he didn’t turn up, she had to eat.
She was downstairs again at a minute past two. In a bronze short-sleeved shirt and the black Bermudas she’d worn earlier, she looked cooler than she felt. The hair at her temples was damp and it wasn’t because of the hasty shower. She was sweating with nerves and wishing she’d had time to eat something to settle her stomach.
He wasn’t there.
Well, she hadn’t expected him to be, she told herself grimly. Diane hadn’t gone out that morning, dressed to kill, in order to have lunch with her accountant No; Olivia had known exactly where she was going. Castellano might be playing hard to get, but Diane had his number—in more ways than one.
All the same, Olivia couldn’t help a feeling of disappointment. Even though she’d virtually convinced herself that he wouldn’t be here before she came down, somewhere deep inside her she’d sustained the fragile hope that she might be wrong. But she wasn’t. It was nearly ten minutes past two and there was no sign of him. She was wasting her time hanging about here. She should just forget all about Joe Castellano and go and get herself some lunch.
‘Ms Pyatt?’
The voice was male, but unfamiliar, and the brief spurt of anticipation she’d felt upon hearing it died. She swung round to find a tall man who looked strangely familiar staring at her. But she didn’t know anyone in Los Angeles, she thought crossly. It was possible that with that muscular build he was a celebrity she’d seen on television. But if so, how had he known her name?
‘Yes,’ she said at last, reluctantly, trying desperately to remember where she’d seen him before. She supposed he could work in the hotel. Was he a bodyguard, perhaps?
‘Sorry I’m late,’ he went on easily. But when she still looked blank he explained. ‘I’m Benedict Jeremiah Freemantle, Mr Castellano’s personal assistant.’
B.J.
Olivia’s lips parted in sudden comprehension. Of course, that was where she’d seen him before. He’d been with Joe at the airport. She’d seen him on the day she arrived.
But what was he doing here? she wondered. Had Joe sent him to make his apologies or what? She didn’t like the idea that Castellano should have someone else to do his dirty work for him. Why couldn’t he have just picked up the phone?
‘Mr Castellano had to fly to San Francisco this morning,’ he continued, his gesture inviting her to accompany him towards the exit. ‘But he’ll be back by the time we get to the house. If you’ll come with me, Ms Pyatt, I’ll take you to him. He was very sorry he couldn’t come to meet you himself.’
‘Wait!’ Olivia realised she had obediently fallen into step beside him, but now she came to an abrupt halt in the middle of the foyer. ‘The house?’ she echoed, not understanding him. Her pulse quickened. ‘You mean Ms Haran’s house in Beverly Hills?’
BJ.’s stocky features shared an equal lack of comprehension now. ‘Ms Haran’s house?’ he echoed, as she had done. ‘No. I’m to take you to Mr Castellano’s house in Malibu.’
‘Oh!’
Olivia’s lips formed a complete circle, and B.J. gave her a slightly wary look. ‘You were planning on spending the afternoon with Mr Castellano?’ he queried. ‘I was told you knew all about it.’
‘Oh, yes.’ Olivia hurried into speech. ‘Yes, I did.’
But Joe’s house in Malibu! she thought, her pulse accelerating. She’d certainly never expected he’d take her there. He’d invited her to the beach and she’d foolishly taken him at his word.
‘Good.’
B.J. was looking considerably relieved now, but she wondered how he’d react if she said she’d changed her mind. She wasn’t entirely convinced of the sense in behaving so recklessly. Yet, after last night, what did she have to fear?
The car waiting outside was nothing like the limousine that took her to and from Diane’s. It was a dark green sports saloon with low sleek lines and broad tyres. A thoroughbred, she thought, in every sense of the word.
B.J. made sure she was comfortably seated before walking round the car to get in beside her, and Olivia was intensely conscious of her bare knees below the cuffs of her shorts. She should have worn a skirt or trousers,
she thought, trying to limit the exposure. But B.J. barely glanced at her before starting the engine of the powerful car.
The car drew a certain amount of attention, but Olivia guessed the man beside her drew some as well. B.J. was thirty-something, blond-haired, and undeniably good-looking. A Californian beach boy, she mused, but it was hardly an original thought.
‘So how are you enjoying your stay in Los Angeles?’ he asked, after they’d negotiated the ramp onto the freeway, and Olivia forced herself to consider what he’d said. So long as she didn’t think too much, she thought she’d avoid any pitfalls. It was thinking about Joe that caused her so much stress.
‘Um—very much,’ she answered after a moment, covering her knees with her hands. ‘I’ve never been to the West Coast before so I’ve done a lot of sightseeing.’ She stopped, realising she was sounding like a tourist. ‘When I wasn’t working, of course.’
BJ. cast her an amused glance. ‘Of course.’ He swung the wheel to overtake a vehicle on the nearside and Olivia’s fingers tightened automatically. She still wasn’t used to this style of driving, but the manoeuvre was accomplished without incident and she relaxed. ‘Have you met anyone interesting yet?’
‘Interesting?’ Olivia’s shoulders lifted. ‘Do you mean someone famous or just—well, anyone?’
‘Aren’t the two descriptions mutually exclusive?’ asked B.J. drily and then laughed when she gave him a worried look. ‘Just joking,’ he added, but she wasn’t sure he was. Like his employer, he seemed to enjoy mocking the establishment.
To her relief, Olivia found the scenery a more than adequate substitute for her thoughts. Beyond the hills north of Los Angeles, the tumbling surf of the Pacific had a wild, untrammelled beauty. Inland, the twisting canyons where the rich had their homes only gave way to the chaparral-covered slopes of the state parks, while along the shoreline the miles of inviting beaches were practically deserted.
‘Have you ever been surfing?’ B.J. asked as the sun glinted on the gleaming shoulders of two men, lying out in the bay, waiting for the big wave to ride their boards into the beach, and Olivia shook her head.
