by Anne Mather
’Really?’ Olivia folded the newspaper into a neat oblong, and laid it by her plate. ‘Well, I’m afraid—Mr Perry—is getting rather absent-minded. I did tell him I had a supper engagement. He must have forgotten to pass it on.’
’Is that right?’ Mrs Drake turned to Stephen now, and Olivia was amused to hear him trying to wriggle out of the situation.
’I believe she did say something about going out,’ he muttered, red-faced, ‘but I thought it was tonight.’ He gave Olivia a glowering look. ‘Still, no harm done, eh?’
Mrs Drake didn’t look as convinced of the veracity of that statement as he seemed to be, but she knew better than to argue with her guests. Instead, she flipped open her notebook and took their orders for breakfast, and, if there was a certain tightness around her mouth as she did so, Olivia was grateful that it averted any discussion of her identity.
When they were alone again, however, Stephen lost no time in voicing his complaints. ‘Making me the scapegoat!’ he muttered, his mouth a sullen line. ‘Why couldn’t you have got me an invitation from this bloke Brennan? We could have made up a foursome. I bet that’s what the Drakes think.’
’I don’t care what the Drakes think,’ retorted Olivia shortly, picking up her newspaper again. ‘I suggest you think about what time you’re leaving. Immediately after breakfast would seem appropriate to me.’
’Oh, would it?’ Stephen sounded belligerent at first, but then his shoulders hunched. ‘Yes, well—I suppose I will have to go,’ he muttered. ‘I’ve got an appointment in Eastbourne at half-past three.’
Olivia looked down at her place mat, not wanting him to see the relief in her eyes. But once Stephen was gone, she intended to make her own arrangements, and this time no one would know her destination.
She was gazing out of the window, wondering if escaping the sight of Stephen ploughing his way through bacon, eggs, sausage and fried potatoes was worth giving up her second cup of coffee for, when someone entered the tiny dining-room. As before, when Stephen himself had interrupted her meal, Olivia expected it to be Mrs Drake. But it wasn’t. To her dismay, it was Conor who was crossing the room towards them.
Her sudden intake of breath was clearly audible, and Stephen looked up from his plate. ‘Burnt your mouth?’ he scoffed, around a mouthful of toast. ‘Serves you right. You should eat something, Ollie. Heaven knows, it’s not as if you don’t need it!’
Olivia looked away from his greasy lips, lifting her head to Conor’s dark-skinned face. Oh, God, she thought despairingly, what was he doing, coming here? And why did just the sight of him sing like music in her soul?
Her expression, guarded though it was, alerted Stephen to the fact that they were no longer alone. ‘What …?’ he began irritably, glancing round. And then, as the other man came to stand beside their table, he put down his knife and fork, and wiped his face with a nervous hand. ‘What do you want?’
It came to Olivia in a flash that Stephen was actually alarmed. He was sweating profusely, and his fair skin was red and blotchy. The contrast between his hot agitation and Conor’s calm self-possession could not have been more pronounced, and she was sorely tempted to let him stew. It was obvious he thought Conor must work for Harry Darcy, and if she had had any doubts that he had been exaggerating his fears they were quickly extinguished.
’I said, what do you—–?’ Stephen was beginning again, shoving back his chair and getting unsteadily to his feet, but, before Olivia could speak, Conor took the initiative.
’I’m Conor Brennan,’ he said coolly, offering his hand. ‘A friend of—your wife’s. And you must be Stephen.’
It was only then that Olivia remembered what she had told Conor. Here she was, enjoying Stephen’s discomfort, and any minute he was going to tell the other man that they were divorced. She sighed. Oh, why had Conor come here? A phone call would have been enough to ensure that she wasn’t lying about Stephen’s visit.
Stephen had stopped blustering, and he shook the other man’s hand almost automatically. But his eyes were definitely suspicious. ‘You’re—Dr Brennan,’ he exclaimed, his eyes flicking back and forth between Conor and Olivia. ‘You’re the family friend she had dinner with last night?’
’That’s right.’ Conor thrust both hands into the pockets of his black leather jacket. He was all in black again today—black jacket, black trousers, his black shirt buttoned to the collar. But no tie, she noticed almost illogically. Yet, she thought, he looked so much better than Stephen in his business suit.
’I understand you’ve just arrived from London,’ Conor continued politely. ‘Are you staying long?’
Stephen frowned, and Olivia guessed he was wondering how much she had told Conor about their situation. Not nearly enough, she thought uneasily, not really wanting Stephen to know she had lied about their relationship.
’Stephen’s leaving this morning,’ she put in hurriedly, glad she was sitting down when she said it. When Conor turned those clear green eyes on her, her legs felt distinctly wobbly. And it had nothing to do with the accident.
’Really?’ Conor’s expression was unreadable. He turned back to Stephen. ‘Just a flying visit, then?’
Stephen hesitated a moment, and then resumed his seat. ‘In a manner of speaking,’ he said, looking thoughtfully at his ex-wife. He put a forkful of fried potato into his mouth, and his eyes narrowed speculatively. ‘I had to come and see how my—wife—was faring, didn’t I? It was good of you to look after her, Brennan. Ollie’s had a hard time of it lately, and there aren’t many young chaps, like yourself, willing to spend an evening cheering up an old friend of their mother’s.’
Olivia’s face flamed. She couldn’t help it. And resentment that Stephen should talk about her as if she were some decrepit old crock brought her to the point of revealing exactly how unaltruistic Conor’s motives had been.
But, once again, it was Conor who saved her from herself. ‘It’s my pleasure,’ he said smoothly, and Olivia wondered if she was only imagining the thread of steel in his voice. ‘And I don’t regard Liv as just a friend of my mother’s. We grew up together.’
’Oh, come on.’ Stephen had recovered himself now, and his smile was openly disparaging. ‘That’s carrying chivalry a bit far, don’t you think? Ollie’s years older than you are.’
Conor’s features hardened. ‘Well, no one could accuse you of an excess of chivalry, could they?’ he retorted, and, although the words were undeniably offensive, they were delivered in such an even tone that Stephen was clearly unsure how to take them.
His uncertainty was transparent in the suspicious face he turned up to the other man, but apparently discretion got the better part of valour. ‘Yeah, well—there’s no point in avoiding the facts,’ he muttered, evidently deciding that in any physical contest between them he’d come out the loser. ‘Say it how it is—that’s been my motto in life. And I haven’t done too badly, all things considered.’
Conor’s contempt was almost tangible. ‘You think not?’ he remarked, with a wintry smile. ‘Then I’m sure you’ll appreciate my reasons for saying that, as far as I can see, you don’t give a shit about anyone but yourself!’
Stephen’s jaw sagged, and Olivia was treated to a sickening view of half-masticated food. But that was a minor misfortune compared to the reaction Conor’s words had evoked. There was no way Stephen could ignore the insult this time, and her heart sank convulsively as he struggled to find his feet.
’Just who do you think you’re talking to?’ he demanded incredulously. ‘Look—–’ he wiped his face on his napkin and threw it down on the table ‘—I don’t know what lies Ollie’s been telling you, son, but take it from me—you don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.’
’Don’t I?’
Conor hadn’t even taken his hands out of his pockets. He just stood there, eye to eye with the other man, a vaguely insolent smirk on his lean features, and Olivia wanted to die. What did he think he was doing? she fretted anxiously. Her ex-husband
might be a coward, if the odds were stacked against him, but he might not be able to resist taking a pot-shot at such an unguarded target.
’Aw, hell!’ Stephen snorted. ‘What are you trying to do? Pick a fight with me?’ He spread his hands. ‘Why? What’s Ollie to you?’
’That’s enough!’ Almost overbalancing her chair, Olivia rose and pushed herself between them. ‘It’s barely nine o’clock in the morning, do you realise that? You haven’t even got the excuse that you’ve been drinking. How do you think Mrs Drake will react, if she comes back and finds you two brawling?’
’Well, it’s not my fault,’ retorted Stephen, and, although she knew Conor had only been defending what he thought were her rights, Olivia had to agree with him. ‘You’d better get your—boyfriend to apologise,’ he added balefully, and she was relieved to hear that he was willing to back down.
’In a pig’s eye,’ remarked Conor distinctly, and Olivia’s stomach hollowed. ‘I meant every word I said.’
Stephen gazed at him disbelievingly, and Olivia had to admit she shared a little of his incredulity. What was Conor trying to do? she wondered anxiously. Force the other man to attack him?
There was a moment when she thought he had driven Stephen too far, but evidently her ex-husband was not prepared to risk physical violence. ‘I think you’d better go,’ he said, and she guessed he was hoping Conor would take his victory with good grace. ‘I’m going to do us both a favour and forget this ever happened. And if you want to continue working in this country, I suggest you do the same.’
Conor’s mouth twisted, and Olivia just knew he wasn’t going to let it go at that. ‘Oh?’ he said scornfully. ‘Why?’
Stephen lifted his chin. ‘I should have thought that was obvious. The British Medical Association don’t take kindly to their practitioners behaving like hooligans, threatening decent, law-abiding citizens.’
Conor lifted his shoulders, indicating his hands were still in his pockets. ‘Am I threatening you?’ He shrugged. ‘I can’t help it if you don’t like your own medicine—if you’ll forgive the pun.’
Stephen looked at Olivia now, and she could see the anger and resentment he was trying so hard to disguise. ‘What the hell have you been telling him?’ he demanded, and she guessed that if they had been alone his words would have been much stronger. ‘For God’s sake, I wasn’t responsible for the accident. If you’d spent less time in the office, and more with me, you wouldn’t be in this mess!’
Olivia put an involuntary hand to her throat. She didn’t know whether she was dismayed or relieved that he had so obviously misunderstood Conor’s motives. But before she could make any response, Conor’s hands came to grip her upper arms, and, although at first she was afraid he was going to remove the barrier she represented, he spun her round to face him.
’Get your coat, Liv,’ he said, his eyes glittering with some unidentifiable emotion. ‘Go on. I’ll wait outside in the car.’
’My—coat?’ Olivia was confused.
’Yes. I’m taking you out,’ he said, his gaze flicking briefly to Stephen, as if daring him to challenge his statement. ‘Don’t worry. I won’t touch him while you’re gone.’
’The hell you won’t!’ snarled Stephen belligerently, but Olivia knew he wouldn’t do anything now. He’d had his chance, and ducked it. Nevertheless, he was determined to have the last word. ‘Well, well, well,’ he sneered. ‘So that’s the way it is.’
’Shut your mouth, Perry.’ Conor kept his tone polite, but there was no mistaking the underlying note of menace. He looked at Olivia. ‘Well, what are you waiting for?’
Olivia shook her head. ‘I don’t think—–’
’So, don’t,’ cut in Conor flatly, turning her round and pointing her towards the door. ‘Or do you want me to get it for you?’
’No …’ Olivia glanced between the two men. ‘No, I’ll do it,’ she said, somewhat unwillingly. But the situation wasn’t of her choosing. What price her eager plans to leave now?
As if sensing her unwillingness to leave them alone, Conor followed her out into the hallway. ‘Don’t be long,’ he said, striding towards the outer door. And, in spite of her misgivings, Olivia found herself going obediently up the stairs.
She was renewing her lipstick with a slightly unsteady hand when the bedroom door opened and Stephen stepped into the room. He stood there, watching her outlining her lips with the red gloss, his expression mirroring his resentment. And, although she knew she ought to object, she couldn’t think of a thing to say.
’So, how long has this been going on?’ he demanded at last, and the sheer effrontery of his question brought her quickly to her feet.
’There’s nothing going on,’ she said, putting the cap back on the lipstick and reaching for her hairbrush. ‘Get out of my room, Stephen. We have nothing to say to one another.’
’I disagree.’ Stephen made an aggressive move, but then, as if realising that wasn’t the way to get her attention, he tucked his hands into his trouser pockets and rocked back on his heels. ‘In a hurry, aren’t you?’ he sneered. ‘I would be, too, if I had someone young enough to be my daughter panting after me!’
Olivia ground her teeth. ‘You’re disgusting!’
’Am I?’ Stephen’s lips curled. ‘I wondered why you came to this God-forsaken place. Now I know, don’t I?’
’Will you get out of here?’ Olivia could hear her voice rising and struggled to hold it down. ‘Don’t judge everyone by your own standards. Conor and I are friends. Friends, that’s all. A man and woman can be friends, although I doubt that’s something you know anything about.’
Yet, even as she said the words, Olivia knew herself for the hypocrite she was. How could she dismiss what had happened last night as a ‘friendly’ encounter? If she hadn’t come to her senses when she did, heaven alone knew what might have happened.
Which was why her tone was less than confrontational when she added, ‘Just for the record, I didn’t know Conor had come back to live in Paget when I came here. I thought the Brennans’ house had been sold years ago.’ She held up her head. ‘But it hadn’t.’
’And you just happened to run into him?’ suggested Stephen sceptically, and she nodded.
’Yes.’
Stephen was silent for so long that she was sure he was trying to read her mind. But it wasn’t really a lie, she told herself defensively. Though not quite the truth either, she conceded with a sigh.
’All right.’ To her relief, Stephen seemed to accept her explanation. ‘So what’s going on?’
’Going on?’
’Yes, going on.’ Stephen dipped his head in the direction of the front of the inn. ‘You can’t seriously pretend you don’t know what he’s after.’
’Stephen, please!’
’Well, it’s the truth.’ Stephen scowled. ‘And you’re a fool if you think he’s serious about you. Hell, I don’t want to hurt you, Ollie, but take a look at yourself. You’re a woman, approaching middle age, to whom fate hasn’t exactly been kind. Oh, you’ve got nice hair, and nice eyes, and you used to have nice legs before—–’
’Yes, thank you.’
Olivia cut him off before he could go any further. But there was a tremor in her voice as she did so, and she despised herself for allowing anything he said to upset her. Whatever else, his comments were not unbiased, and she hated the thought that he might detect her weakness.
’Well—–’ Stephen shrugged now ‘—all I’m saying is that you’re not someone he’d get seriously involved with. I mean—he’s young, and even I can see that he’d attract the birds. But you’re not a bird, Ollie. You’re someone he’s known since he was a kid, and he feels sorry for you. Maybe he does think you’ve had a rough time. He may have some justification for thinking I walked out on you just when you needed me most. But, hell—I didn’t know how things were going to turn out. I never wanted this divorce, remember? I hope you told him that.’
Olivia moistened her lips. ‘I think you’d better
go.’
’OK.’ To her relief, he didn’t argue. ‘But think about what I’ve said, Ollie. You’re an intelligent woman. You know it makes sense.’
’Stephen—–’
’All right, all right.’ He sauntered towards the door. ‘So—I’ll be seeing you, right?’
Not if I see you first, muttered Olivia under her breath, and then felt the hot sting of tears behind her eyes. Damn him, she thought painfully, crossing the room and slamming the door behind him. Why did he have to be right?
CHAPTER EIGHT
ONLY the thought that Conor might get tired of waiting and come looking for her forced Olivia to collect her coat and go downstairs. But she had no intention of going out with him, she told herself severely, as she checked the knot of hair at her nape. She would just tell him she had a headache—more lies!—and get rid of him.
The Audi was parked at the front entrance, with Conor at the wheel. When she emerged from the inn, he thrust open the door from inside, as he had done the night before. ‘Get in.’
’No.’ Olivia hung back. ‘I—er—I’ve just come to tell you I’ve got a headache. I’m going to take a couple of capsules and rest for a while on the bed.’
Conor’s mouth compressed. ‘I said, get in,’ he repeated, and she could tell he didn’t believe a word. ‘Or do you want me to get out and force you into the car?’
Olivia stood back. ‘You wouldn’t dare.’
Conor said nothing more. He just thrust open his door, and, rather than scuttle back inside like a frightened rabbit, Olivia said, ‘Oh, all right,’ and scrambled into the seat beside him.
But, if she’d thought that Conor might give her a few minutes to think of another excuse, she was wrong. As soon as she was inside the car and the door closed, he took off at speed, the rear of the car fish-tailing briefly, before maintaining its grip on the icy road.
’Are you crazy?’ she exclaimed, groping for her seatbelt, and he immediately eased his foot off the accelerator.
