by Anne Mather
’Go get Olivia’s coat, Sharon,’ Conor ordered, as soon as they reached the foyer, and although it obviously wasn’t a popular request the girl didn’t argue.
’I could have got it myself,’ protested Olivia, after the young woman had departed clutching the redemption ticket. She endeavoured to move away from him. ‘Thank you. I can manage now.’
’Can you?’ Conor didn’t look convinced.
’Yes.’ Olivia jerked her arm out of his grasp and backed away. ‘I wish you’d stop behaving as if I shouldn’t be out without a keeper!’
’Stop exaggerating, Liv!’ Conor’s mouth compressed. ‘All I did was hold your arm.’
’Because you thought I was in danger of showing you up!’ retorted Olivia hotly. ‘Well, don’t worry, Conor. I won’t let it happen again.’
’No?’
’No.’ Olivia glanced swiftly around to make sure their conversation was not being overheard, and then added grimly, ‘I’m sure you’ll be as glad when this evening is over as I will. It was kind of you to invite me, but I think you’ll agree it was a mistake!’
Conor’s face darkened, but Sharon’s return prevented him from making a reply. Which was just as well, thought Olivia ruefully, as the doorman helped her to put her coat on. Judging from his expression, it would not have been anything good.
The journey back to the Ship was accomplished without incident. Even Sharon had little to say, beyond commenting on how full she felt. She was looking forward to going to bed, she added. She felt so sleepy. But not too sleepy, Olivia hazarded, with a cynical twist to her lips.
However, when they arrived at the inn, Conor turned off the car’s engine. ‘I won’t be long,’ Olivia heard him say to Sharon, as she was levering herself out on to the pavement, and she caught her breath. Dear heaven, she thought, surely he wasn’t going to insist on seeing her up to her room tonight? Not with his girlfriend waiting, and the car in danger of losing its heat.
She was standing beside the car when he came round to join her, and although their last words had hardly been cordial she strove for a friendly tone.
’Thank you—both of you—for the evening,’ she murmured, aware that Sharon had lowered her window to hear what was said. ‘It’s been lovely—–’
’I’m glad to hear it,’ responded Conor, and she wondered if only she could hear the irony in his voice. Ignoring her resistance, he turned her forcefully towards the building. ‘Let’s go, hmm? It’s bloody cold out here.’
Olivia glared at him, but he had her at a disadvantage, and he knew it. So, instead of fighting him, she cast a helpless smile in Sharon’s direction. ‘Goodnight,’ she called, with rather more warmth than she had shown the girl thus far. ‘I won’t keep him.’
Fortunately the lobby was empty, though there was plenty of noise coming from the bar, and Olivia was able to wrench her arm from Conor’s grasp. ‘Don’t do this to me,’ she warned, but he followed her up the stairs anyway, and by the time she reached her door she was panting from exertion.
’All right,’ she said, backing up against the door as he loomed over her, his shadow elongated by the light from the stairs. ‘Now will you leave? You’ve done everything you possibly can to humiliate me. So please, just—go away.’
’How?’
’How what?’ Olivia was confused.
’How have I humiliated you?’ asked Conor, propping his shoulder against the wall beside her. ‘What did I do?’
’What did you …?’ Olivia broke off and gripped the handle of the door behind her, wishing she could just slip inside without further argument. ‘Look—I really don’t want to talk about it. Can’t we just say goodnight? I—just want to go to bed.’
Conor frowned, then he put out his hand and lifted a tendril of dark hair that had fallen beside her ear. ‘Are you mad because I brought Sharon?’ he asked softly, and Olivia was so shocked she was sure she must have misheard him.
’I—beg your—–’
’I thought it might make things easier for you,’ he added, as she turned horrified eyes in his direction. ‘You seemed so nervous of me yesterday morning, and I guess I was a little nervous myself. I’ve thought about how I’d feel seeing you again after so long, and I was so afraid of screwing up!’
Conor? Afraid? Olivia couldn’t believe it. ‘Oh, really,’ she began, but he wouldn’t let her continue.
’I mean it,’ he said, his hand dropping to the belt that rode low on his hips. ‘Hear me out. Please.’
Olivia shrugged. ‘All right.’ She was purposely not looking at him, but she couldn’t help watching those strong supple fingers easing their way under the taut leather. She was suddenly aware that she was wondering how they would feel touching her. And, although she stifled the thought instantly, its memory remained.
’I know I always say the wrong thing,’ he muttered now, and she was aware of his eyes moving over her face. ‘Hell, don’t I?’ he added. ‘Tell me about it. And I know your opinion of me is coloured by the way I behaved that time I came to see you in London, but I can’t do anything about that. Honestly, Liv, you don’t know how much I’ve regretted mouthing off as I did. I was just a stupid idiot, and if I hurt your feelings, then believe me, I’m sorry.’
Olivia took a deep breath. ‘Conor, it really doesn’t matter that much—–’
’Yes, it does.’ As if he couldn’t help himself, his fingers moved to straighten the lapel of her coat. ‘Liv, I wanted us to start afresh. I wanted us to be friends.’
Olivia lifted her shoulders. ‘We are friends—–’
’Are we?’
’Yes.’ Olivia was beginning to feel the strain of standing in one position for too long, but it wasn’t just her physical discomfort that made her add swiftly, ‘Honestly, Conor, I’ve forgotten all about that time in London.’ It was a lie, but he was not to know that. ‘Heavens, it was years ago. Now, don’t you think you ought to go? I’m sure Sharon must be getting very impatient—–’
’So, you’ll let me see you again?’
’What?’ Olivia caught her breath. ‘Oh, I—I don’t think so.’
’Why not?’ He looked down into her anxious brown eyes, and, before she could stop him, he had cupped her face in his hand. ‘If we’re friends,’ he reminded her roughly. His eyes darkened, and as his fingers moved against her flesh she could feel their hard pressure clear down to her toes. ‘Hot damn, I wish you weren’t married,’ he groaned suddenly, and, bending his head, he brushed her parted lips with his mouth.
CHAPTER FOUR
AT TWO o’clock the next morning, Olivia got up to take a sleeping pill. Staring at her reflection in the mirror above the wash-basin in the bathroom, she tried to get what had happened into perspective. But she couldn’t. She was too tired—and too confused—to make any sense of it at all.
Why had Conor kissed her? As she fished one of the capsules out of the bottle, she acknowledged that that was the real reason she was finding it so difficult to sleep. His action had taken her completely by surprise, and while she was sure she was exaggerating its importance, the fact remained that he had kissed her mouth.
Filling a glass with water, she chided herself for allowing him to disconcert her like this. Heavens, she thought, as she tossed the capsule to the back of her throat and swallowed it with a gulp of the ice-cold water, it wasn’t as if it was anything out of the ordinary. Men and women kissed all the time. In the circles she moved in, it was an accepted form of salutation between the sexes.
But it was the way he had kissed her that troubled her most. She was almost convinced she had felt his tongue probing her lips. God! She had been as shocked as a virgin on her first date. And when he’d made that crack about wishing she was single she’d felt as guilty as any cheating wife.
Her stomach heaved as the water churned up the mixture of gin and wine she had drunk earlier. The alcohol was probably responsible for her feeling so over-stimulated, she reflected. Her body was tired, but her brain wasn’t getting the message.<
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She crawled back into bed, and tried to tuck her freezing toes into the hem of her nightshirt. She was so cold, in spite of the thick quilt that covered her. Sharon wouldn’t have that problem. Not with Conor’s muscled body coiled around her …
Dammit!
Olivia shifted crossly on to her other side. Where had that thought come from? For heaven’s sake, she wasn’t jealous of the girl, was she? Just because Conor had kissed her, surely she wasn’t allowing herself to think she had some claim to his affections? Dear lord, he was only a boy! Thinking of him as anything else was—was ridiculous!
But he wasn’t a boy, a small voice reminded her drily. He was a man, in every sense of the word, and an attractive one at that. No wonder Sharon had said those women at the clinic hung on his every word. It would be incredibly easy to be seduced by his lazy eyes and smiling mouth.
But not for her, she chided herself fiercely. She wasn’t like those other women. She was just someone who had known his mother, and because of that he felt a certain closeness to her. But it wasn’t the kind of closeness he had with Sharon. It had no—sexual—connotation.
She pressed her hand to her throat. Just thinking about him with Sharon brought an unpleasant tightness to her breasts, and she was aware of them peaking against the soft cotton. The abrasion was unwelcome, and she ran her hand half impatiently down her body, trying to soothe her perverse flesh. But her arousal stemmed from another part of her body, and she rolled on to her stomach to try and subdue its craving.
All the same, the knowledge that she could feel like this, with so little provocation, was alarming. In spite of the fact that it was almost two years since she and Stephen had shared a bed, she had never before felt she was missing anything. On the contrary, she had grown used to regarding herself as a dispassionate woman. That was why she was so good at her job. And, although she had never objected to Stephen’s lovemaking, she had felt no great eagerness for it either.
Which was why what was happening to her now was so disturbing. It was like shedding a layer of skin, and finding a stranger underneath. She didn’t recognise herself, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to. It was safer to stay immune from the hungers of the flesh.
Nevertheless, when she awakened the next morning it was to discover that the problem hadn’t gone away. Not that that was so surprising really. She had spent what was left of the night in a haze of heat and sweat, and sexual frustration. But one thing was certain: she had to get herself under control before she saw Conor again. She would hate him to find out that his careless kiss had caused such an emotional furore inside her.
A cool shower worked wonders, and by the time she had pulled on a pair of dark green leggings and a thigh-length sweater and brushed her unruly hair into a severe knot she was almost convinced she had been exaggerating. The mind was a funny thing, she thought, following Mrs Drake’s ample form across the tiny dining-room later. It was open to suggestion—even self-deceit.
’Oh—there was a phone call for you earlier,’ Mrs Drake exclaimed, after Olivia was seated. She pulled an apologetic face. ‘I almost forgot. It was young Dr Brennan.’
’Was it?’ Olivia could feel the familiar warmth enveloping her. What price self-deception now?
’Yes.’ Mrs Drake folded her hands across her midriff. “Course, Tom put the call through to your room, but you didn’t answer. I said to him, I did, you must be in the shower. Can’t hear that phone ringing when the water’s running, and that’s a fact.’
’I see.’ Olivia was grateful for the warning. ‘Um—did he leave a message?’
’Only that he’d ring again later,’ declared Mrs Drake ruefully. ‘Sounded real disappointed, he did. Have—er—have you two known one another long?’
Olivia looked down at her place mat, with its black and white lithograph of the Romney, Hythe and Dymchurch railway. This was what she had been afraid of, of course. So far, she had managed to maintain her anonymity, but Conor’s intervention had given her inquisitive landlady an opening.
’Quite long,’ she replied at last, pretending to be interested in the morning newspaper. She glanced up as Mrs Drake still stood there, miming surprise. ‘Just toast and coffee, as usual, please.’
It was hardly polite, and in other circumstances she would never have been so abrupt, but Mrs Drake was far too garrulous to confide in. However, she had bargained without taking the other woman’s persistence into consideration. ‘Had dinner with him and young Sharon last night, didn’t you?’ she declared, flicking a speck of dust from the table with the hem of her apron. ‘Nice girl, Sharon. Her mother and me went to school together. Connie Simmons, as was. Family lived over towards Witterthorpe. Her mother’s an auxiliary at the clinic where Dr Brennan works.’
’Really?’
The coolness of Olivia’s tone was in direct opposition to the turmoil of her thoughts. Somehow, she hadn’t thought of Sharon as having a family living locally. She had assumed they’d met while Conor was working in London. She hadn’t imagined their relationship was so short-lived.
’Yes—well …’
Mrs Drake shrugged, and, evidently deciding her guest was unlikely to be any more forthcoming, she ambled away. But, when she was alone, Olivia put the newspaper aside, and gazed unseeingly out of the window. Of course, she could be wrong. Conor could have known Sharon since they were at school, too. She wondered how long they had been living together. And how serious the affair was.
Deciding she was becoming far too interested in Conor and his concerns, after breakfast Olivia collected her coat from her room and left the inn. She didn’t tell the Drakes where she was going. And if Conor rang again they would have to tell him she still wasn’t answering her phone. But right now, she needed some fresh air. A leisurely stroll across the marsh sounded very appealing.
The path took her over the sand-dunes, where clumps of tussocky grass held out against the encroaching sea, and out across the salt marshes, where sandpipers and herring gulls scavenged for food. It was a crisp morning—bright, but cold—and, beyond the breakwater, the channel lay as still as a mill-pond. But, in spite of the lack of wind, the air was chilling, and even with her gloved hands tucked securely into her pockets Olivia could feel its bite.
But her leg felt much better, and she was relieved. Despite her restless night, a couple of days without any undue exertion had restored its fragile strength. Oh, she still had a bruise or two here and there, to add to her other scars. But nothing incapacitating, as she had first imagined.
She returned to the inn at lunchtime feeling considerably more optimistic. She had managed to pass the whole morning without thinking about Conor, or worrying what she was going to do about him. She had determinedly emptied her mind of all her personal problems, and even the prospect of returning to London didn’t give her the sinking feeling it usually did.
’Did you have a nice walk, Mrs Perry?’ Mrs Drake called from the reception kiosk as Olivia headed for the stairs, and she turned back good-naturedly.
’Very nice, thank you,’ she replied, taking off her glove to push an unruly strand of hair out of her eyes. Then, deciding there was no point in resenting the woman’s curiosity, she added, ‘I went as far as the lighthouse. It was exhilarating.’
’Yes.’ Mrs Drake smiled. ‘You like your walks, don’t you, Mrs Perry? Oh—before I forget, you had another call while you were out.’ And, as Olivia stiffened, she fished a scrap of paper off the desk and held it out to her. ‘I think it was your husband. Anyway—–’ she watched avidly as it was read ‘—he’s left you a number where you can reach him.’
Olivia caught her lower lip between her teeth. Sure enough, the number was familiar to her. It was the number of Stephen’s mobile phone. The one he never went anywhere without. As if she would ever forget it, she thought bitterly. But how had he known where to find her?
’Would you like me to dial the number for you?’ suggested Mrs Drake hopefully, and Olivia guessed she was dying to know what was going on. After
all, she had been staying at the inn over a week now, and so far she had had no contact with her husband.
’I’ll ring him later,’ Olivia murmured now, stuffing the scrap of paper into her pocket. And then, before she could stop herself, ‘Um—that’s all, is it? There weren’t any other calls?’
’Dr Brennan didn’t ring again, if that’s what you mean,’ declared Mrs Drake immediately, and Olivia thought how conspicuous she was, being the only guest. ‘I expect he’s busy with his patients. A queer lot some of them are, risking their health with heroin and suchlike. Can’t see any sense in it myself. What’s the point of injecting yourself with drugs to get some passing thrill, when most times they’re too zonked out to enjoy it?’
Olivia gave a rueful smile. ‘I really don’t know,’ she said, deciding there was no advantage to be gained in arguing the point. To hear the finer details of human need and social deprivation was not what Mrs Drake wanted from her. Besides, Olivia had no desire to get into a discussion where the particulars of her personal involvement became an issue.
She had started for the stairs again, when Mrs Drake called her back. ‘Will you be wanting lunch, Mrs Perry?’ she asked expectantly, and Olivia’s breath escaped on a sigh.
’I—yes. Yes, in about fifteen minutes,’ she agreed, grasping the gnarled banister with a determined hand.
’That’ll give you time to make your call,’ observed her landlady irrepressibly. ‘It’s steak and kidney pudding. Just what you need on a day like this.’
Olivia managed a smile, and then set off up the stairs, before Mrs Drake could think of anything else. It was ironic, really, but they had had more conversation in the last few hours than they had had in the whole of the past week. Olivia hoped it wasn’t going to become a habit. She was too private a person these days to enjoy talking about herself.
Of course, she thought, as she shed her coat in her bedroom, Conor knew plenty about her now, and if he told Sharon, and Sharon told her mother … But no. Olivia refused to consider what might happen in that eventuality. If things became too awkward, she could always go somewhere else.
