by Anne Mather
But the picture of family domesticity the woman was painting rankled. She could tell herself it was a deliberate attempt to show Conor’s relationship with Sharon in another light, but she still felt annoyed. Why bother? she wondered irritably. Did they really think she was some kind of threat?
’Anyway,’ Mrs Holmes continued smugly, ‘I suppose I’d better be getting on. It’s been nice talking to you, Mrs Perry, but I really shouldn’t waste any more time.’
Another dig? Olivia’s smile was thin. Who asked you to? she wanted to say childishly. She’d just as soon have missed out on this enlightening experience.
’Did Conor bring you here?’ the woman probed, as she did a kind of sideways chassé to the door, and Olivia wondered, for the first time, what Conor had told her. How had he conveyed the news that he had brought a visitor to the clinic? And what excuse had he given for bringing her here in the first place?
But, ‘Yes,’ she responded now, not prepared to prevaricate. ‘He—um—had a patient he wanted to see.’
’Oh—Stuart Henley, yes.’ To Olivia’s dismay, Mrs Holmes lingered. ‘The silly fool nearly killed himself inhaling a mixture of crack and baking powder. Do you know, his heart stopped beating! If it hadn’t been for Conor, he’d be dead or brain-damaged or something.’
Olivia found her breath catching the back of her throat. ‘But—he’s all right now?’ she murmured tensely, sure she shouldn’t be asking Mrs Holmes the question, but unable to prevent herself just the same.
’He’s still alive,’ agreed Sharon’s mother, with the air of someone who’d played a crucial part in his survival. ‘These kids! They don’t have any sense. Thank heavens my Sharon’s never got involved in anything like that.’
’Mmm.’
Olivia couldn’t argue with her there, and, to her relief, Mrs Holmes reached for the handle of the door.
’I’d better go,’ she said once again. ‘I’ve got work to do.’
Olivia managed a thin smile. ‘I’m sure.’
’You—er—you’ll have to get Conor to bring you over to tea one day,’ she continued, as she swung the door open. ‘I’ll tell our Sharon to fix it up, shall I? It’ll give you a bit of company, won’t it? And I’m sure Sharon’s dad would like to meet an old friend of Conor’s parents.’
CHAPTER NINE
OLIVIA was standing staring out of the window when Conor came back. She had been sitting down; she supposed she should still be sitting down. But Sharon’s mother had made her so mad that she couldn’t wait to get out of there.
She knew she was a fool, letting the other woman get under her skin, but that final dig about Conor’s parents had been the last straw. Good God, she was not that old! If Sally and Keith had still been alive they’d have been forty-six and forty-eight respectively. She was thirty-four! Eight years older than Conor, it was true, but not their contemporary.
She was attempting to admire the clumps of daffodils growing wild beside the footpath, when Conor came into the room. Unlike Mrs Holmes, he hadn’t knocked, but the face she turned towards him was still vaguely apprehensive.
And he knew instantly that something had happened. ‘What is it?’ he asked, with some resignation, closing the door with his shoulders, and slipping the pen he had been holding back into his pocket. ‘Didn’t anyone bring you any coffee?’
Olivia’s mouth thinned. ‘Oh, yes,’ she said, slipping her hands back into their pockets and propping her hips against the sill. ‘A Mrs Holmes attended to it.’ Her wintry smile was ironic. ‘I think she wanted to check me out.’
’Oh, God!’ Conor swore. ‘How did she find out you were here?’
’Who knows?’ Olivia was dismissive. ‘Are you ready to leave? Because if not—–’
’I’m ready. I’m ready.’ Conor pushed himself away from the door, and glanced half impatiently about the room. ‘I gather she came back to collect the tray.’
’What tray?’ Olivia propelled herself up from the window-sill. ‘You don’t need a tray for a disposable cup.’
Conor exhaled almost wearily. ‘Connie must have been desperate,’ he remarked, walking across to his desk. He pulled a folder out of a drawer, and, sorting through the papers on the desk, he stuffed some of them into it. His hands encountered the damp pages Olivia had tried so hard to sponge dry, and he gave her a wry look. ‘What did she do? Throw it at you?’
Olivia had to smile. ‘Something like that,’ she admitted ruefully, moving over to join him. ‘Is anything spoiled?’
’No.’ Conor was laconic. ‘But, believe it or not, I did ask one of the nurses to make the coffee. Real coffee, not that machine crap.’
’It doesn’t matter.’ Olivia shrugged. ‘So—how is he?’
Conor widened his eyes. ‘How do you know it’s a he?’
Olivia grinned. ‘I even know his name. Your Mrs Holmes is very chatty.’
’She’s not my Mrs Holmes.’
’Well, your Sharon’s mother, then,’ declared Olivia equably. ‘Once she’d assured herself I wasn’t a threat to your relationship, she became quite friendly.’
Conor’s mouth turned down. ‘Did she?’
’Hmm.’ Olivia found it was quite enjoyable to turn the tables on him for a change. ‘She’s even invited me over to their house for tea. She says she’ll get Sharon to fix it up with you.’
Conor’s mouth compressed. ‘I don’t think so.’
’Oh?’ Olivia feigned disappointment. ‘Why not?’
’Because I don’t expect to be seeing Sharon again,’ he told her shortly, and she was still absorbing this statement when his arm looped about her shoulders, dragging her towards him. ‘I’d stop inviting trouble, if I were you,’ he added, his hot breath moistening her ear. ‘That is, unless you’re prepared to take the consequences.’
Olivia pulled away from him at once, and he let her. But she had no illusions that, had he not wished to let her go, she wouldn’t have succeeded. As it was, she was red-faced and eager to change the subject, and her, ‘You—you didn’t say how the boy is?’ was a desperate attempt to rescue her composure.
Conor picked up the folder from the desk. ‘He’s off the respirator and he’s stable,’ he replied, much to her relief. But it was mostly relief that he hadn’t pursued his earlier statement, rather than concern for someone she didn’t know.
’And—did you find out where he got the stuff?’ she persisted, and Conor gave her a look that said he knew exactly what she was doing.
But, humouring her, he explained that his patients had visitors, that this wasn’t a prison, and that, although security measures were taken, sometimes the system broke down.
’We may never find out where he got it from,’ he declared, and when he moved she hastened awkwardly towards the door. ‘So let’s go and get ourselves some decent coffee.’ His smile was faintly malicious. ‘And perhaps I should hear some more about this—friendship—you’ve struck up with Sharon’s mother.’
Olivia had forgotten how cold it actually was until she got outside, and then she was quite glad to tuck herself into Conor’s car. If his obvious amusement at her discomfort irritated her at all, she was not prepared to pursue it, and she had settled comfortably in her seat when he got in beside her.
’Am I forgiven?’
His first words startled her, and she turned her head to look at him in some surprise. ‘For what?’
Conor flicked the key in the ignition, and put the Audi into gear. ‘Well, not for teasing you about Connie,’ he remarked, releasing the hand-brake, and reversing out of the parking bay. ‘I meant—–’ he glanced her way ‘—for upsetting your husband.’
’Oh.’ Olivia’s fingers linked convulsively. ‘I—perhaps you should ask Stephen.’
’I don’t want to ask Stephen,’ retorted Conor tersely, accelerating to the gates of the clinic, and turning out on to the main road. ‘Perhaps I should have phrased that differently.’ He paused. ‘I’m not sorry for what I said. I meant every word. But—dammit—it�
�s obvious your marriage is having problems as it is, and I guess I and my big mouth will only have added to them.’
Olivia glanced his way. ‘Why—why do you think my marriage is having problems?’ she asked sharply.
’Call it intuition.’ Conor was sardonic. ‘Hell, Liv, I have had some experience in these situations.’
’I bet you have.’
Her tone was bitter, and he uttered an angry expletive. ‘Not from a personal standpoint,’ he retorted harshly. ‘But I have counselled enough adults to know what goes on.’
Olivia shrugged. ‘So what am I supposed to forgive you for?’
’I don’t know.’ Conor was resentful. ‘You twist my words so much, I don’t know what the hell I mean.’
’Then perhaps we shouldn’t talk about it,’ she said, turning her attention back to the scene outside the car’s windows. ‘Oh, look—it’s starting to snow.’
’We have to talk about it,’ stated Conor grimly, and she was glad the icy roads meant he had to keep his hands on the wheel. ‘If you and Stephen aren’t having problems, why did you agree to have supper with me last night?’
Olivia sighed. ‘All right. I suppose I should have told you sooner—–’
’That’s not what I meant, and you know it.’ Conor was savage. ‘Dammit, Liv, stop treating me like an idiot. If you’re not happy, you’ve got to do something about it.’
’Why?’
She deliberately kept her face turned away from him, but she heard his harsh intake of breath. ‘Because of us,’ he responded, and she could feel his eyes boring into her back. ‘Because if there’s any chance of you divorcing him, I want to know about it.’
Olivia expelled her breath as quickly as he had sucked his in. ‘Really?’ she exclaimed, striving for a mocking tone. Steeling herself, she turned and looked at him. ‘Why? Are you going to offer to counsel us?’
’Liv!’ Conor’s expression was ominous. ‘Don’t do this. You know what I’m talking about. I don’t have to explain. God—you have to know how I feel about you. I’ve been trying to tell you since I was sixteen years old—–’
’No!’ Olivia tried to stop him. ‘Conor, stop this! I don’t find it at all amusing!’
’And you think I do?’ he countered, swinging the car too violently round a corner, and having to hang on to the wheel until it righted itself again. ‘Hell, Liv, I can’t remember a time when you haven’t played a part in my life. OK, I had some growing up to do, I accept that. And I also accept that when I came to London to see you, I played it all wrong. But God—I didn’t have my head straight in those days. I thought I knew it all, but I didn’t.’
’Oh, Conor—–’
’No, hear me out, Liv. I was a fool, I know that. I got involved in things you don’t want to know about. But that’s all over now. I’m all grown-up. I’m a man, Liv, and I know what I want.’
’Not—me—–’
’Why not you?’ His eyes darkened as they rested briefly on her mouth. ‘I don’t believe you don’t feel something for me.’
’Well, I do, of course—–’
’You do?’
’—but not—not in that way,’ she protested, anxious to convince herself as well as him. ‘Conor, whatever happens between Stephen and me, it isn’t your concern.’
’Isn’t it?’
’No.’ Olivia was adamant.
’Because I’m too young?’
Olivia sighed. ‘Yes.’
’You’re crazy!’
’No, I’m not.’ She took a steadying breath. ‘I don’t know why I’m saying this, but, apart from anything else, I’m sure it hasn’t missed your notice that—that I’m crippled!’
Conor gave her a bitter look. ‘That’s Stephen’s excuse, not mine.’
’Oh, Conor!’ Her head was aching with the effort of sustaining this argument. ‘Just—just take me home,’ she mumbled, digging her chin into the collar of her coat, and thereafter there was silence in the car.
The snow was falling more heavily now, she noticed, tipping her head back against the upholstery. It was congealing on the windscreen, forcing the wipers to work twice as hard to clear it, settling in fluffy flakes on the roadside, covering everything in a cloak of white. It was pretty, she supposed, struggling to think of anything but Conor, and the things he had been saying. It would be all too easy to give in to his persistence, all too easy to let him have his way.
But, although she was prepared to accept that he was attracted to her, she didn’t believe the part he said she had played in his life. In the nine years since she’d last seen him, she doubted he’d even given her a second thought. Maybe at Christmas, and birthdays, she reflected sadly. But that was all. Then, three days ago, fate had taken a hand. She had stepped into his path, and he was flattered because he thought she’d sought him out. And maybe he was a little bored with Sharon, too, she appended, despising herself for the comfort that thought brought her. He had been looking for a diversion, and she had provided it.
It wasn’t until Conor turned the car into the drive of the house on Gull Rise that Olivia realised where they were. With the snowstorm obliterating all but the most immediate surroundings of the car, she had hardly been aware that they were back in Paget. But when he braked and brought the car to a halt, she sat up in some confusion.
’This isn’t the inn,’ she exclaimed rather foolishly, and Conor turned to look at her with wry eyes.
’No,’ he conceded, studying her unguarded face for a heart-stopping moment. Then, turning away, he thrust open his door. ‘As I said, we’re going to have ourselves some decent coffee.’
’They serve coffee at the Ship,’ Olivia pointed out swiftly, as he walked round the car, but if he could hear her he chose to ignore her words.
’Come on,’ he said, yanking open her door, his hair already flecked with snow. ‘It’s cold out here.’
The house, conversely, was beautifully warm, and Olivia had to admit, as Conor helped her remove her coat, that it was much nicer here than at the inn. Indeed, if it weren’t for her unwelcome awareness of him, she knew she would have enjoyed familiarising herself with the old place again. As it was, she couldn’t resist admiring the carpeted curve of the staircase, or running a finger over the polished mahogany of the banister as she followed Conor along the hall.
She halted in the kitchen doorway, arrested by the sight of him filling the coffee-maker with water, spooning coffee grains into a filter. He worked with an easy economy of effort, obviously well used to making his own coffee, and not at all perturbed by her interested appraisal.
Then, when the machine had been switched on, he turned and rested his hips against the drainer, his hands cupping the Formica at either side of him. ‘Are you hungry?’ he asked, and, realising she was staring at the spot where his shirt entered his trousers, Olivia hastily removed her gaze and shook her head.
’No. But if you—–’
’I’m fine.’
His tone was clipped, and, deciding it was up to her to show him she intended to keep their association on a friendly basis, she spread her hands in an encompassing gesture. ‘So,’ she ventured lightly, ‘who looks after this place for you? I can’t believe you do all the housework yourself.’
’No.’ Conor hesitated a moment, as if considering whether to answer her at all. And then he said carelessly, ‘One of the local women comes in twice a week.’
’Ah.’ Olivia hid her relief that it wasn’t Sharon after all. ‘Well, she does a wonderful job!’
’Doesn’t she?’ Conor was sardonic. ‘Do you want a guided tour?’
’I—why, no. No, of course not.’ Olivia gathered her briefly scattered composure. ‘I should think I know my way around here almost as well as you do.’
’Oh, yes.’ Conor removed his hands from the work-surface, and folded his arms. ‘I forgot. You used to tuck me in, didn’t you? How could I forget that?’
Olivia took a steadying breath. ‘Please, Conor—–’
’Please what?’ His eyes glittered. ‘Please don’t say anything to embarrass you? Please don’t talk about things that you’d rather ignore? Like how much you’re wanting me to touch you at this moment?’
’That’s not true!’ Olivia was appalled that he could read something into her actions that simply wasn’t there. ‘If you’re going to start that again, then I think I’d better go.’
’Start what again?’ he asked, harshly. ‘Making you look at yourself as you really are, and not as you’d like to be?’
’No.’ Olivia straightened her spine, putting almost all her weight on her undamaged leg. ‘I’ve told you how I feel about you, Conor. I’m fond of you—of course I am. How could I not be after—after—–’
’—all these years?’ he supplied contemptuously, and with a helpless gesture she turned back into the hall.
’If you say so,’ she replied wearily, and with an angry oath he came after her.
’All right,’ he said, thrusting his balled fists into his jacket pockets, and she guessed how much it had cost him to give in to her. ‘All right, I won’t say anything else to upset you. So—where do you want it?’
Olivia’s hand sought her lips. ‘What?’
’The coffee,’ declared Conor, a rueful twist to his mouth. ‘What else?’
Olivia expelled her breath in a rush. ‘Oh.’ She licked her lips. ‘Well—in the kitchen, I suppose. But—–’ she glanced round ‘—would you mind if I used your bathroom first?’
’Help yourself.’ Conor’s tone was dry. ‘I guess I don’t have to tell you where it is.’
’No.’ Olivia shook her head, but, although Conor went back into the kitchen to check on the coffee, all the way upstairs images of him as a baby, splashing his way through a hundred noisy bath-times, filled her head.
Of course, Conor’s present bathroom bore only a passing resemblance to the one Olivia remembered. The old porcelain tub had been removed, and in its place there was a perspex-walled shower cubicle, and a modern corner bath. It had been tiled, too, and on the glass shelf above the wide hand-basin a razor and blades had taken the place of the old rubber duck Olivia remembered.
