by Penny Jordan
Where was Oliver? Why hadn’t he been in touch? The small dining table which was all her flat could accommodate was lovingly polished and set with her small collection of good silver and crystal—unlike Oliver’s grandparents she did not possess a matching set of a dozen of anything, and her parents, peripatetic gypsy souls that they were, would have laughed at the very idea of burdening themselves with such possessions.
However, through her work Lisa had developed a very good eye for a bargain, and the small pieces that she had lovingly collected over the years betrayed, she knew, the side of her nature that secretly would have enjoyed nothing better than using her dormant housewifely talents to garner a good old-fashioned bridal bottom drawer.
To help pass the time she tried to imagine Oliver’s eventual arrival, her heartbeat starting to pick up and then race as she visualised herself opening the door to him and seeing him standing there, reaching out for her, holding her, telling her how much he had missed her and loved her.
Oliver, where are you? Where are you…?
Almost on cue the telephone started to ring—so much on cue in fact that for several seconds Lisa could only stand and listen to the shrill sound of it, before realising that she wasn’t merely imagining it and that it had actually rung, was actually ringing.
A little to her own disgust she realised as she picked up the receiver that her hand was actually trembling slightly.
‘Lisa…’
Her heart sank.
‘Oliver… where are you? When will you—?’
‘Bad news, I’m afraid.’ Oliver cut her off abruptly. ‘I’m not going to be able to make it after all; I’m stuck in New York and—’
‘What?’
There was no way Lisa could conceal her feelings—shock, disappointment, almost disbelief, and even anger was sharpening her voice as she tried to take in what he was telling her. A horrid feeling of sick misery and despair was beginning to fill her but Lisa’s pride wouldn’t let her give in to it, although her hand was clenched so tightly on the receiver that her skin was sharp white over her knuckles.
‘I’m still in New York,’ she heard Oliver telling her, his voice curt and almost—so her sensitive ears told her—hostile as he added brusquely, ‘I know it’s not what I’d planned but there’s simply nothing I can do…’
Nothing he could do or nothing he wanted to do?
All the doubts, the fears, the insecurities and the regrets that Lisa had been holding at bay ever since they had had to part suddenly began to multiply overwhelming and virtually obliterating all her self-confidence, her belief in Oliver’s love. She had been right to be mistrustful of his assurances, his promises; she had been right to be wary of a love that had sprung into being so easily and now, it seemed, could just as easily disappear.
‘Lisa?’ Oliver said sharply.
‘Yes, I’m still here.’
It was an effort to keep her voice level, not to give in to the temptation to beg and plead for some words of reassurance and love, but somehow she managed to stop herself from doing so, even though the effort made her jaw ache and her muscles lock in painful tension.
‘You do understand, don’t you?’ he was asking her.
Oh, yes, she understood. How she understood.
‘Yes,’ she agreed indistinctly, her voice chilly and distant as she tried to focus on salvaging her pride instead of giving in to her pain. ‘I understand perfectly.’
She wasn’t going to weaken and let herself ask when he would be coming home, or why he had changed his mind… so obviously changed his mind.
Before he could say any more and before, more importantly, she could break down and reveal how hurt and let down she was feeling, Lisa fibbed tersely, ‘I must go; there’s someone at the door.’ And without waiting to hear any more she replaced the receiver. She must not cry, she would not cry, she warned herself fiercely.
In the mirror she caught sight of her reflection; her face was paper-white, her eyes huge, revealing all too clearly what she was feeling, the contrast between her carefully made-up face and the misery in her eyes somehow almost pathetically grotesque.
Her flat, her clothes, her whole person, she decided angrily, made her feel like some modern-day Miss Havisham, decked out all ready for the embrace of a man who had deserted her. The thought was unbearable. She couldn’t stay here, not now… not when everything around her reminded her of just how stupid she had been. Why, even now she was still emotionally trying to find excuses for Oliver, to convince herself that she had overreacted and that he felt as bad as she did and that he wasn’t having second thoughts.
Alison’s invitation was still on her mantelpiece. She reached for the telephone.
‘Of course you can still come, you didn’t need to ask,’ Alison reproved her when she’d explained briefly that there had been a change in her plans and that she was now free for the evening. ‘What happened? Has Henry—?’
‘It’s all off with Henry,’ Lisa interrupted her.
There hadn’t been time to explain to Alison just what had happened when she had telephoned her to ask her how her skiing holiday had gone and cancel her acceptance to her party and now Lisa was grateful for this omission, even though it did give her a small twinge of guilt when Alison immediately and staunchly, like the good friend she was, declared, ‘He’s let you down, has he? Well, you know my feelings about him, Lisa. I never thought he was the right man for you. Look, why don’t you come over now? Quite a few people are coming early to help but we can always use another pair of hands.’
‘Oh, Alison…’
Ridiculously, after the way she had managed to control herself when she’d been speaking to Oliver, she could feel her eyes starting to fill with tears at her friend’s sturdy kindness.
‘Forget him,’ Alison advised her. ‘He’s not worth it… he never was. You may not believe me now, but, I promise you, you are better off without him, Lisa. Now go and put your glad rags on and get yourself over here… Are we going to party!’
As she replaced the telephone receiver Lisa told herself that Alison’s words applied just as much to Oliver as they did to Henry, although for very different reasons.
Forget him. Yes, that was what she must do.
Tonight, with the old year ending and the new one beginning, she must find a way of beginning it without Oliver at her side. Without him in her life.
On impulse she went into the kitchen and removed the champagne from the fridge, pouring herself a glass and quickly drinking it. It was just as well that Alison’s flat was within reasonably easy walking distance, she decided as the fizzy alcohol hit her empty, emotionally tensed stomach.
There was no need for her to get changed; the little black dress she was wearing—had put on for Oliver—was very suitable for a New Year’s Eve celebration. All she had to do was redo her make-up to remove those tell-tale signs of her tears.
She poured herself a second glass of champagne, realising too late that instead of filling the original glass, which still had some liquid in the bottom, she had actually filled the empty one—Oliver’s glass. Grimacing slightly, she picked them both up and carried them through to her bedroom with her, drinking from one before placing them both on the table beside her bed and then quickly repairing her make-up.
In New York Piers frowned as he walked into his cousin’s hotel suite and saw Oliver seated in a chair, staring at the telephone.
‘Is something wrong?’ he asked him. His curiosity had been alerted earlier by the fact that Oliver had been extremely impatient to bring their discussions with the Americans to a conclusion, stating that he had to return to England without explaining why. Piers had happened to be looking at him when they had heard the news that the talks would have to continue. Oliver had been none too pleased.
‘No,’ Oliver responded shortly. Why had Lisa been so distant with him—so uninterested, so curt to the point of dismissal? She had every right to be angry and even upset about the fact that he had had to change their plans
, but she had actually sounded as though she hadn’t wanted to see him.
‘Well, Jack Hywell is anxious to get on with the negotiations,’ Piers told him. ‘Apparently he’s due to take his kids away the day after tomorrow, which is why he wants to take the discussion through the New Year period.
‘Oh, by the way, Emma rang me this morning. She’s been up to Yorkshire, and whilst she was up there she heard that Henry is getting married. Apparently, he’s marrying someone he’s known for a while. I must admit I’m surprised his mother finally sanctioned a marriage. Still, good luck to him, I say, and to her.
‘What is it?’ he asked Oliver. ‘Hey, Oliver, watch it…’ he warned his cousin as he watched the latter’s hand clench tightly on the glass he was holding. ‘Look, I know how much pressure these negotiations are putting you under,’ he commiserated, ‘but with any luck they’ll be over soon now, and… Oliver, where are you going?’
‘Home,’ Oliver told him brusquely.
‘Home? But you can’t,’ Piers protested. ‘The negotiations.’
Oliver snarled at him, telling him in no uncertain terms what should be done with the negotiations and leaving the room.
Piers stared open-mouthed at his departing back. Oliver hardly ever swore, and he certainly never used the kind of language that Piers had just heard him use. He was normally so laid back… Something was obviously wrong, but what?
‘Ugh?’
Reluctantly Lisa opened her eyes. What was that noise? Was someone really banging a hammer inside her head or was someone at the door?
Someone was at the door. Flinging back the duvet, she reached for her robe, wincing at both the pain in her aching head and the state of her bedroom—clothes scattered everywhere in mute evidence of the decidedly unsober state in which she had returned to her flat in the early hours of the morning. She had never had a strong head for alcohol, she admitted to herself, and Alison’s punch had been lethal. She would have to ring her later and thank her for the party, and for everything else as well.
‘Don’t even think about it,’ Alison had advised Lisa drolly the previous evening after she had determinedly rescued her from the very earnest young man who had buttonholed her.
‘He’s even worse than Henry,’ she had warned Lisa, rolling her eyes. ‘He still lives with his parents and his hobby is collecting beetles or something equally repulsive. I only invited him because it was the only way I could escape from his mother. I know how much you like a lame dog, but really, Lisa, there are limits. Has he invited you round to look at his beetle collection yet?’ she asked wickedly, making Lisa laugh in spite of herself.
‘That’s better,’ she had approved, adding more seriously, ‘I hadn’t realised that Henry meant quite so much to you, but—’
‘It isn’t Henry,’ Lisa had started to say, but someone had come up and dragged Alison away before she could explain properly and after that, rather than cause her friend any more concern, she had forced herself to be more enthusiastic and convivial, the result of which was her aching head this morning. No, this afternoon, she acknowledged as she saw in horror what time it was.
The doorbell was still ringing. Whoever it was was very determined. What if Oliver had changed his mind and come back after all? What if…?
Her fingers were trembling so much that she could hardly tie the belt of her robe. Quickly she hurried into the hallway, leaving her bedroom door open, and went to open the door, her heart beating so fast that she could hardly breathe.
Only it wasn’t Oliver, it was Henry.
Henry!
Dumbly Lisa stood to one side as he walked self-importantly into her flat without bothering to close the door. Henry—what on earth was he doing here? What did he want? He was the last person Lisa wanted to see.
She pressed her fingers to her throbbing head. How could she have been stupid enough to think it might be Oliver? So much for all her promises to herself last night, as they’d all waited for midnight to come and the new year to start, that she would put him completely out of her mind and her heart.
‘Henry, what is it? What are you doing here? What do you want?’ she demanded shortly.
As she watched him breathe in then puff out his cheeks disapprovingly when he looked at her, she wondered how on earth she could ever have contemplated marrying him, how she had ever been so blind to the true reality of his character, his small-mindedness and fussiness, his lack of humour and generosity. Disapproval was written all over him as he looked at her.
‘Surely you weren’t still in bed?’ he criticised her.
‘No, I always dress like this. Of course I was still in bed,’ Lisa snapped, losing her patience with him. She could hear him clearing his throat, the sound grating on her over-stretched nerves. If she had known it was only Henry at the door she would have stayed where she was.
‘Mother thought I should come and see you,’ he told her.
Lisa stared at him in angry disbelief.
‘Your mother wanted you to come and see me… What on earth for? I would have thought I was the last person she would want you anywhere near. In fact, if I remember correctly, she said—’
‘Er—yes, well…’ Henry was flushing slightly as he cut her off. Why had she never noticed that slightly fishy bulge to his eyes when he was under pressure? Lisa wondered distastefully. Why had she never noticed, either, how very like his mother’s his features were? She shuddered.
‘The thing is, Lisa, that Mother thought I should make the situation absolutely clear to you, and—’
‘What situation?’ she demanded.
‘Well…’ Henry tugged at his collar. ‘The thing is that I’m getting married to… to someone I’ve known for some time. She and I… Well, anyway, the wedding will be in June and we’re having our official engagement party in February and…’
‘And what?’ Lisa pressed, irritated, wondering what on earth Henry’s engagement and intended marriage had to do with her and why his mother should think she might want to hear about them.
He coughed and told her. ‘Well, Mother didn’t want there to be any misunderstandings… or embarrassment… She felt that it was best that you knew what was happening just in case you tried…’
Lisa couldn’t believe what she was hearing.
‘Just in case I tried what?’ she demanded with ominous calm. ‘Just in case I tried to resuscitate our relationship—is that what you’re trying to say?’ she asked him sharply. ‘Is that what your mother is afraid of?’
Did either of them really think… after what had been said, after the accusations which had been made, that she wanted anything… anything to do with Henry? Heavens, she wouldn’t so much as cross the street to say hello to him now, never mind try to resuscitate a relationship which Oliver had been quite right to tell her she was better off without, and she opened her mouth to tell Henry as much and then closed it again.
There was no point in losing her temper with Henry; rather, she ought to be pitying him.
‘Who is the lucky bride-to-be?’ she asked him with acid sweetness instead. ‘Or can I guess…? Your aunt’s god-daughter…?’
She saw from his expression that her guess had been right. Poor girl—Lisa hoped she knew what she was taking on.
‘It’s all right, Henry,’ she reassured him calmly. ‘I do understand and you are quite safe. In fact I wish you and your wife-to-be every happiness.’
And as she spoke she pulled open her front door and firmly pushed Henry backwards towards it whilst at the same time raising herself on her tiptoes to place her hands on his shoulders and deposit a dismissive and cold contemptuous kiss on his cheek—just as Oliver crossed the foyer outside her flat and to all intents and purposes saw her with her arms around Henry and kissing him.
There was a second’s tense silence as Lisa saw Oliver over Henry’s shoulder, his face set in a mask of furious anger, and then Henry was backing away from her and almost scurrying past Oliver as he headed for the stairs, whilst Oliver strode towards her, i
gnoring him.
‘Oliver!’ Lisa exclaimed weakly. ‘What are you doing here? I wasn’t expecting you. I thought you were in New York.’
‘Very evidently,’ Oliver agreed tautly as he slammed the front door behind him, enclosing them both in the suddenly far too small space of her hallway.
‘It’s just as well your fiancé has decided to leave. I want to have a few words with you… Not very brave of him, though. Some husband he’s going to make… When I heard that your engagement was back on I couldn’t believe it. I thought there must have been some mistake.’
‘There has,’ Lisa agreed. If only her head would stop aching, she thought.
‘I tried to ring you from the airport,’ she heard Oliver tell her.
‘I was out at a party,’ she responded.
‘A party—to celebrate your engagement, no doubt,’ he accused her grittily, adding savagely as he suddenly stiffened and looked past her and through her open bedroom door to where the clothes she had discarded the previous evening lay scattered all over the floor, ‘Or did you save that until you were back here alone with him? My God, and to think I believed you when you told me that sexually he had never meant anything to you, that there had never been anything between you. What else did you lie to me about, Lisa? Not that it matters now…’
‘I haven’t lied to you,’ Lisa protested, reminding him, ‘And if anyone should be making any accusations surely it should be me? After all, I’m not the one who promised to be back for New Year’s Eve and then broke that promise.’
Furious with herself, she closed her eyes. What on earth had prompted her to say that, to betray to him how much his broken promise had hurt her… how much he had hurt her?
‘I had no choice,’ she heard Oliver telling her angrily, ‘but you did, Lisa, and you chose—’
‘I chose nothing,’ she interrupted him, as angry with him now as he patently was with her.
What right, after all, did he have to come back and make such ridiculous accusations—accusations he must surely know couldn’t possibly be true? And how come he could manage to get back now when he hadn’t been able to do so before?
